Posted on by Daisy Joan

Bound on a Train for Glory

I found myself weeping before the Lord this morning as I passionately renounced my most beloved and oldest demon friends for the thousandth time, and then longingly looked back at them heartbroken as the walked away at God’s command.

I cried out, “God, I don’t know why I’m doing that!  I hate them!  I don’t want them!  And a part of me loves them and wants them back already! Help me, God!!! Help me!”

“Worship me,” he whispered. I felt the soft touch of his gentle calloused hand gathering up the tears on my cheeks.

A touch from the Master had already begun to sand away another rough spot on my broken heart. His calloused hand.  A perfectly divine, resurrected body with a calloused hand and a rough, scratchy cheek and coarse dark hair.  

He smelled like sunshine and cedar.

I wept.  Jesus wept.  We wept together for the death of Lazarus in my own heart.  

“Lift your head, weary sinner,” He whispered.

Worship me.

I tell Google to play Lift Your Head Weary Sinner and I worship.  I weep and worship and weep and sing at the top of my lungs. Let the chains fall!  Let the chains fall! My repentance becomes worship.  I worship.

Worship me.

Daddy’s personal playlist for me kicked into full gear.  There is an Anchor played next. 

I kept my head lifted up and I fixed my eyes on the Lord’s gaze.  I’d renounced and confessed and repented.  I’d worshiped. Our eyes stayed locked.  He sees and he loves.  He sees me.  And he loves me.

O Lord, you have searched me and known me!
2 
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
    you discern my thoughts from afar.
3 
You search out my path and my lying down
    and are acquainted with all my ways.
4 
Even before a word is on my tongue,
    behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.
5 
You hem me in, behind and before,
    and lay your hand upon me.
6 
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
    it is high; I cannot attain it.
Psalm 139:1-6 ESV

I felt so much relief. The Lord and I were locked in unity.  I allowed Him to keep my gaze, despite my fear and my torment, and He saw me. He saw all of me. 

He has always seen everything in me, every darkness, every fear, and He loves me. 

All those long lost beloved friends of perdition who whisper on the winds of my memories, with their shame and death and suffering, all just disappear into the glorious light. I know my gaze will wander. And I know His gaze wont falter even when mine does.

I don’t have to always understand.  I doubt.  I fear.  I worry.  I am human.  I was born on a train bound for death.  And Jesus loves me.  He offers Himself up to me so we can be one.

And I am reminded again that we are One. Oh, the audacity to consider my fears more terrible than God’s power! His light washes away everything that isn’t light.  

In Him there is no darkness.

5 This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. 1 John 1:5 ESV

I will worship Him.  

I choose to be blinded by His love for me, bound on a train for Glory instead of death, no matter what familiar demons I hear screaming out the window.

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Posted on by Daisy Joan

Pro-Women, Pro-Choice, and Pro-Life

Did you know that the Bible actually endorses abortion under certain circumstances? I am a thousand percent pro life, and I also believe that there are times when an abortion is necessary…ie an ectopic pregnancy, incest, rape, etc. Sometimes the most loving thing to do is to do as Christ, and give each person the right to work out their own salvation with God on their own terms with the assumption that the Lord will work in their heart to bring each person closer and closer to Him through and by His Spirit.

And by no means am I intending to imply any salvation except through Jesus Christ and him crucified and resurrected for the ultimate atonement of our iniquity.

It seems to me that it’s much easier to judge others (and even ourselves), before recognizing that to judge at all is to presume to know more than the Ultimate and Only Righteous King. He is the only One capable of judging each person with equity and love.

We see through the glass darkly, and we grow in humility when we acknowledge that God is at work in everything around us, working it for our good despite the cruel and desperate work of the enemy on the prowl to utterly destroy our lives.

Therefore, I choose to accept that God can work with whatever we are willing to give him, and that by choosing to tangibly love the ones who act like our enemies by providing support through the loving acceptance of personal autonomy, trusting that the One Who Made Us will work this stuff out, and that our prayers, love, and the sharing of the Gospel to all people (perhaps even especially toward the ones who are most different than us politically, religiously, morally, or otherwise) is what will make the most difference in the bringing of God’s Kingdom Come.

“Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.” ~Jesus

Posted on by Daisy Joan · 2 Comments

Parts

Part of me broken,
Part of me strong.
Part of me Holy,
And part of me wrong.

Part of me trying
Part of me dying.
Part of me full and satisfied 
And masterful at lying.

I sing at the top 
Of my lungs, till I’m breathless
I scream at my mountains 
Unmoved and relentless.

A part of me astonished.
A part of me coy.
A part of me girl.
A part of me boy.

Growth spurts and progress
Grow quickly to death.
Grow countless the questions
Growth holding my breath.

Part of me captured.
Part of me lost.
Part of me feeling 
The freedom and cost.

Part of me searching
Part of me screeching.
Part of me soothing.
Part of me teaching.

Each part of me 
Part of me.
Each part of me,
Me.

Each part of me longing,
Each part of me yearning,
Each part of me hoping
And reaching and turning.

For food and for pleasure, 
For shelter and shame.
For crying out loud
My life’s not a game.

Hold tight these horses.
Hold tight these reins.
Hold tight to the promise 
Inscribed in my veins.

A part of me hides
In a cocoon of my fears
Alien abductions
Better than tears.

Tears that feel hollow
Tears that believe
That tears will wash clean
Tears never relieved. 

And it’s more than just tears
And curses in mire.
It’s trauma and cruelty
To reap the desire.


A part of me inanimate,
A plaything for others.
Used and abused
By sisters and brothers.

My family not safe.
My friends not safe.
My church not safe.
Nothing is safe.  I’m not safe.

A part of me furious,
Righteous, emboldened.
A part of me ruthless,
Undaunted, reloaded.

A part of me fishes
For compliments and wishes.
A part of me searches
For validation in mission.

A part of me humble.
A part of me dazed.
A part of me triumphant.
A part of me crazed,

Part of me subtle.
Part of me loud.
Part of me gentle.
Part of me proud.

Part bitch,
Part heretic,
Part symphony,
Part rhetoric.

My parts are calling, 
Consuming, undone.
My parts that are screaming
Eternal,“Be one!”

Be healed and broken.
Unsafe and undone.
Be wounded, be sinful.
Be righteous and won.

Disingenuous apart
Transfigured in art.
My soul is a litany of parts
Torn apart.

My parts that rhyme, that paint, that speak, 
These parts that are petty, or selfish, or weak,
Or these parts that scream courage 
In the face of defeat.

Part of me broken and hiding, alone.
A part frightened and worried and scarred to the bone.
Part silent, part patient,
Part powerful, unknown.

Part cripple, part mime,
Part incidental divine,
Parts mute and unknown.
Parts walking the line.

Parts feel lonely 
Others feel brave.
Parts feel victimized,
And others forgave.

I call for a conclave
An assembly of minds
Each different but unified
In purpose enshrined.

Each part will be heard.
Each part will be seen.
Each part has a story
A place and a dream.

No parts will be lost
To time or depression.
No parts will be stolen
By cruel indiscretion.

No parts will be banished.
No parts we’ll appraise.
Each part will be honored
And asked to engage.

Hard conversations
Will have space to decide
How best to handle 
The healing inside.

Each part has a story, 
A place and a voice.
Even parts with no words 
Will still get a choice.

Every word will be addressed.
Every part will be heard.
Every wound will be recognized
Bandaged and cured.

I hear you, I see you, 
I know you are mine.
Every part on the inside 
That scrambled and whined.

I praise you, great warrior parts.
And parts so grotesque,
I would recoil and shudder
And hold in regret.

I know now that each part
The good parts and bad,
The ugly and beautiful,
The celebrated, the sad.

Each part is worthy
Of love and respect.
Each part is part of me,
My part to detect and connect.

My parts will find unity
Despite the denial, 
The fear and the shame,
And parts undelivered in trial.

Be you manager 
Or exile or fighter prepare
To feel the elation 
Of flight in the air.

I offer you now,
This transformative treatise
through poetry mused:
I lean on the hope of completeness.

Unity, my darlings
In the Lord and in life.
Unity, my loves
In hardship and strife.

Together we have
All the tools that are needed
The Lord has provided 
The enemy defeated.

And I am committed 
To continue this journey,
Whether we stand or we fall,
It will not deter me.

We will all fall together
And stand up again.
Together united.
Together a friend.

It doesn’t have to be weird
It doesn’t have to make sense.
It’s just acknowledging our needs
And letting go of defense.

United together 
When we face any trial
Or victory or insight 
Or blessed denial.

We won’t hold it against us.
We’ll notice without judgment.
Because self awareness is beautiful
Not repugnant.

That shame that you’re feeling
That worry, that guilt?
It’s a lie, you can trust me,
I’ve seen what it built.

I know we’re not perfect.
And that’s nothing to fear.
I’ll recognize and comfort
Those parts, they are dear.

You heard me.
I love every part that has spoken.
I love the liars, the outcasts, 
The bended, the broken.

I love you and love you 
And love you again
Because you are made in His image
And will be again.

You will be made new 
Transformed and revisited.
Every great scar
Like Christ be uninhibited.

You will dance naked, unashamed
In the Garden again.
Because Jesus has made us 
And calls us His friend.

A video of me reading this poem can be found here.

Posted on by Daisy Joan · 2 Comments

Compressed Consolation Prize

In the shade, horse lips, slobbery tongue
Wet, insistent partnership
Hidden in pockets filled with treats
Crunchy kibble, bite size chunks–apple flavored.

Broken knees walk tilted steps for
Soft velvet muzzle kisses
Require persistent apple flavored treat
Refined little nuggets so nutrient rich.

Consolation prize, the real prize,
The prize fight where bloodied broken lips nuzzle
For treats but won’t let you close
Without nutritious apple snacks

Compressed into consolation prizes
Not worth fighting for
Broken compressed nothing until one taste
Sweet consolation prize.

No perfect knees
Gone adolescent exuberance compressed into
Bite size tasty treats
Full of insight, treasure trove of consolation prizes.

Compressed caesura, transcendent requiem
Clarity unaltered by self-righteous indignation,
Or sharp and critical loathing disguised as wit.
Sharp as cataclysmic disregard and invalidation.

Presumptive triumph compressed
Into juicy little broken bits
Of delicious apply flavored kibble
Not fit for human consumption.

Ever onward unstable legs!
Forward Ho! Broken bones and curious scars.
Preemptive strike in
Bright white light that shines in the darkness and cannot be overcome.

Courageous strength submits to Truth;
Submits to life and powerlessness.
Acceptance amidst fear and pain and more of the same.
Love breathed Life, presumed consolation prize.

Persistent partnership, with death defeated
And the darkness exposed for all to see.
No need to rehash every crunchy delicious apple flavored tidbit.
More than growth has been given to me

For I have seen the invisible,
Delicious apocalyptic revelation
Choreographed by the Creator of the Universe
So that the Darkness that battled to define me no longer has a say.

Immovable Rock, Source of abundant life.
His life for mine will never count as wasted consolation prize.

 

 

 

Posted on by Daisy Joan

In My Mind

In my mind.

Rubbed raw and brutal like burlap and salt on exposed wounds.

In my mind they fly

A tumult of debris in the hurricane of yesterday

Rubbing raw moments when hope was abandoned, when love became a tiresome and deceptive fear

In my mind.

When sex was rage and pain and blood and fear and loss.

No innocence left at five years old when hope was not a word I knew

In my mind. I listened and cried and waited.

Steel wool scraping away the rust of abandoned steel, twisted metal, fortune lost, potential extinguished.

In my mind where yesterday and today and tomorrow are jumbled together in frenzied footsteps and screams in black night.

Rubbed raw cheeks, burning eyes, a snow bank, a motorcycle, a tent

In my mind blowing away like glowing embers from a campfire, faerie dust fantasy.

In my mind so many words I do not know,

Pictures painted all at once with watercolors that run together and blur everything to numb dark and muddy gray.  Nothing but a stain.

In my mind.

Enter age like dried flowers, beauty and fragrance gone to memory, tight and lost and distant.

Blank pages filled with dark smears of tears and rage and fire.

Thick legs hold up what horror has melted like pure white snow into mud.

Pale body, mottled with scars, carries jagged stones in its fragile shell.

In my mind this sack of skin and blood and tissue and bone, leaking and torn and putrid, burned.

Worn down to sackcloth and ashes, mourning life lost.

In my mind a life fully spent, waits to finally, blissfully come to its end, come crashing down, come undone, come home.

Wicked thoughts despised, repressed, regressed, rubbed raw.

Through a glass dimly.

In my mind I tried.

Eyes of fire burn it down. No more raw, splintered metal.  No more rusted ruin extinguished, thirsty.

I am thirsty, in my mind.

Rubbed raw revelation, trickling down in a miniscule sliver of silver water that flows from within the pound of flesh fulfilled.

In my mind these heavy stones, these lumps of pummeled appendages grasping and scraping and wheezing

Cough one more breath as I lay dying.  Heart compressed into diamonds as many as the stars in the Heavens to share.

Forever treasures feasting, filling, finding one more breath again and again. One more drop of blood to move through this not quite corpse.

In my mind.

Champion’s crown of victory revealed in final breaths that never cease.  Always one more. That trickle of silver gleaming diamond water that grows and feeds and fulfills.

Sustain this bag of bones and flesh and blood.  Permeate.  Initiate.  Exonerate.

In my mind. Abundant life. Words on pages intangible.

Rubbed raw, relentless, but still one more breath.

Always one more breath, oh Breath of Life, oh River of Living Water.

I drink and drink and drink and life unfolds from this lump of mud and decay and death.

In His mind I am healed, refined, undaunted, vigorously restored, courageous, resplendent.

And in my mind, alive, renewed, I dance.

Posted on by Daisy Joan

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. 8 We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; 9 persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; 10 always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. 11 For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. 2 Cor 4:7-11 (ESV)

My earthen vessel isn’t cracked, it’s smashed.  It’s smashed to dust. And I admit that for a long time I thought there was surely something wrong with me. I felt victimized. I felt wronged.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t right.  I’ve been abused.  I’ve been ravished.   I’ve talked to God about it a lot.  

“But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” Isaiah 64:8 (ESV) 

If He’s the potter and I’m the clay, then why do I feel like dust? 

Did you know how dust becomes clay?  

“Clays form from millions of years of mineral erosion. Mountains break down into boulders, boulders into rocks, rocks into pebbles, sand, silt and eventually, when the silt reaches a certain size of fineness, an amazing transformation occurs. Instead of just being a loose mix, the fine particles manifest an attraction for water and each other at a molecular level. Clay can be thought of less as a material and more of a behavior, the phenomenon of very finely eroded minerals to agglomerate.” (Webb, Patrick “From Dust We Come: A Look at Clay.” Traditional Building. Feb 14, 2017 https://www.traditionalbuilding.com/opinions/a-look-at-clay)

Today as I began to write and lament about my suffering, the Lord reminded me of a vision he’d given me a few years ago. I saw a beaten and battered up old vase sitting on a pedestal.  Light showed through the cracks and broken places and cast an intricate pattern of spider web designs across the walls.  The room was lit up by them.  

The vision could have ended there for me to know that God was working and making beauty from my brokeness, but God had more to show me.  A huge sledgehammer suddenly came down and smashed the vase, but instead of extinguishing the light, an explosion of vibrant colors filled the room. The walls around it could not contain it, and they crumbled into dust as the light and colors filled the world outside with unimaginable beauty as far as the eye could see.  

As I recalled the vision this afternoon, I heard God say, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

There’s my dust. 

I thought back to the Garden of Eden.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust was a consequence of eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. God had warned Adam and Eve about it, but they didn’t listen.  

Yet I know I’m not suffering the consequences of my sin because I’ve chosen to eat from the tree of life through Jesus instead of the tree of slavery to my own debauchery.  My consequences got paid for on the cross. 

What I’m carrying are the marks of an enemy who hates me.  He hates me because I chose Jesus instead of death.  I chose to eat from the tree of life.  I called BS on the serpent’s lies. 

I think of Jesus, and why He chose to go the cross, and why He called His disciples to do the same.  “And he (Jesus) said to all, ‘If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.’” (Luke 9:23 ESV) We saw Jesus carry His cross. He couldn’t even do it by himself, he needed help!  It was excruciating, horrifying, and brutal. But necessary.  

Jesus came in the flesh to show us that the pain of this world and the death that it brings doesn’t have to be eternal.  He came to show us that we don’t have to suffer the consequences of Adam and Eve and their bad decision.  We can choose for ourselves to take the fruit of life offered by Him. We can choose life. 

It’s a necessary step, suffering.  It’s the consequence of an evil serpent throwing a tantrum because Jesus has offered us eternal life. Jesus knows that road well. He faced those consequences, too.  He did it for us. He submitted to Satan’s tantrum and said, “Give me your worst!” and Satan obliged Him.  

Jesus’s life wasn’t pretty, and it ended brutally, but resurrection followed!  Jesus gets the last word.  Jesus is the Word made flesh.  And the Word cannot be overcome.  It is life and it is beautiful, and he carries the scars on his own resurrected flesh just to remind us of that.  What a gift.  I’m so thankful for it.  

If I’m to follow him in all things, then I must be willing to accept the crushing with the hope that it will bring resurrection life.  Not because God hates me, but because the world does, and God is not content to let me suffer in vain.  There’s got to be beauty that comes from it, or there’s no point in living at all.  

Jesus showed me that because He experienced it.  He laid down his life willingly so that I could see that all the suffering the enemy could throw at me in this world would not be the end of me.  Because He conquered death, if I follow Him in life, I too shall stand upon the wreckage of death and proclaim eternal life through Him who saved me from it!

Ashes to ashes.  Dust to dust. Dust to clay. Clay to life in the Potter’s capable hands.

Posted on by Daisy Joan

Breath of Life

 then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature
Genesis 2:7

If you follow my blog, or know me well in person, then you know that I was on a ventilator last year for almost two weeks.  (You can read all the details about it here) I don’t remember it.  Not really anyway.   All I know is that everyone but my husband knew I was going to die.  It was a grievous time.  People flocked to the hospital to give their respects.  To say goodbye.  To offer comfort.  Doctors told my husband to say goodbye to me multiple times.

People say that the ventilator kept me alive.   People are saying that a lot right now because of Covid-19.  Hospitals need ventilators to breathe for people and keep them alive.  But the source of life will never be a ventilator. 

The LORD kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
1 Samuel 2:6

When you need a ventilator they have to restrain you so you don’t do something stupid while you’re heavily sedated.  (Like I did when I self extubated and should have died…you can read more about that fun story here.)  And the Church has definitely been restrained.  Public gatherings have been shut down. 

Jesus has shown me the Church as it gasps for breath. In these wretched days, a ventilator seems like the only thing that will keep us alive, whether we’ve gotten sick or not.  Bills need to be paid.  Congregations need comfort and encouragement.  How can any of this happen while we practice social distancing?  Zoom can’t be our new normal, can it? It’s just a stop gap, right?  Until we can breathe on our own again, right?

But, wait a second.  Are we even supposed to be breathing on our own?

Jesus Christ is the breath of life.

When I self-extubated my lungs should have collapsed.  Instead I began to breathe “on my own.”  But here’s a news flash, folks:  I know full well I wasn’t breathing on my own.  Jesus breathed for me.

I pray that the beautiful body of Christ would stop looking for ventilators.  I know it seems logical.  I know it makes sense from human standards.  I know that a ventilator kept me alive last Summer.  But Jesus showed me that He alone keeps me alive.  He alone is my breath.  He alone is our breath.

“Do you think that’s air you’re breathing now?” ~ Morpheus, The Matrix (1999)

 

Maybe being extubated is exactly what we need.  We know right now that we can’t breathe on our own.  We just can’t.  All the things we keep doing are helpful, even encouraging to us.  We want to do something.  We need to do something.  It helps us feel like we are contributing to the life of the Church still somehow.  If we keep those tubes of action in place we don’t have to die.

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
John 12:24

Zoom and Facebook and YouTube have been useful and beautiful.  Wanting to live has value!  And these tools have shown us what matters and what doesn’t.  My prayer is that they don’t become just another way for us to live without Jesus.

I can tell you, I shouldn’t be alive. Not by human wisdom.  But Jesus could care less about human wisdom, and so I am alive.  

Can we trust Him in this?  Can we look to the Breath of Life for our resuscitation?  Can we trust Him?  Will we trust Him?  

Lord, thank you for Zoom and Facebook.  Thank you for exhorters and encouragers who say hard things.  Thank you for teachers and pastors who tenderly show us the Word of Life and offer us comfort.  Thank you for servants who weep for our needs in prayer and give beyond their means financially to support the Church.  Thank you, Father, that each member is a part of one body, Your Body.  Thank you that each of us brings something unique and beautiful to this mess that is the Church.  Help us to love one another and consider others higher than ourselves.  Let us love without judgment.  Let us trust that You are working even when we can’t seem to work together or have opposing points of view.  You are on Your Throne and that is something that we can all agree with.  Bring us unity.  Restore Your Church, Heavenly Father.  Bring Jesus back.  Set things right once and for all. Breathe for us, Daddy. Amen.

Posted on by Daisy Joan

The List

If you knew that tomorrow the whole population of the world would either live or die depending on what list they were on, and that the those who were on the list of the living would be given great gifts and reward, while the list of those who were dying would only have what they had built for themselves before their death, wouldn’t you want to be on the list of the living? What would you pay to be on the right list? What would you do in order to be on that list? What would you do to make sure the people you know and love could be on that list too?

I know of such lists, though I do not know the day on which they will be called into account. I am on the living list and have been instructed to invite everyone that I can to join me on the life list.

But the master of the death list has made it his life’s work to keep as many people off of the life list as he can. He’s convinced people that what they do now is more important than what they do tomorrow, and that the riches and power and knowledge they achieve through their own hard work is a far better gift than a life filled with things of even greater value that they did not earn or deserve.

I’m brokenhearted that so many people believe that their own effort can force them onto the life list, but the master of the life list has said that no one is good enough to get on the life list because the death list master convinced everyone that the only way to really live is to decide for yourself what life should look like. And that sounds so good to everyone that they don’t even want to consider the life list because they think they’re already on it!

But the only way to get on the life list is to admit that the master of the life list has a much better understanding of life than the death list master because he is the ultimate source of life in the first place.

But the life list master can’t bear the thought of anyone willingly staying off the life list because they have been lied to, so he confronted the death list master and beat him at his own game. He allowed the death master to kill him, and then (because he is the master of the life), death could not hold him. He came back to life.

Now anyone who can admit that they have been duped into believing that they can have life apart from the life master, can choose to believe that the life offered by the life master is far better than the lie that the life of the death master has offered, and can receive a place on the list of life and receive all the abundance of life offered by the master of life. Forever.

All anyone has to do is confess that they have been believing in the death list master and following their own desires with the belief that it will give them life. Then turn to the life list master and ask him to give them life. And he shall give it to them.

Choose to stop believing the lie. Choose life with the master of life.

John 10:10

Posted on by Daisy Joan

Peace and Security

Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers,[a] you have no need to have anything written to you. 2 For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. 3 While people are saying, “There is peace and security,” then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape. 4 But you are not in darkness, brothers, for that day to surprise you like a thief. 1 Thessalonians 5:1-4

We’ve all seen the info-graphics online.  X number of people have died since the outbreak.  X number of people have recovered since the outbreak.  X disease has killed more or less than the virus. X number of unborn babies have died since the outbreak. Cancer takes x number of lives every year.  Influenza kills x number of people every year. There’s a graphic out there to compare a million facts about death lately.  

Death is on our minds and we can’t stop thinking about it. 

But people have always been dying, haven’t they?  Death is the inevitable finish to life. And right now a lot of people are shaken to their core by the contemplation of a pandemic so powerful that it has shut down the world in order to save lives.  

Here in America, there’s been talk that it’s a political ploy to steal our freedom.  We have certainly lost a lot of freedom. And if you’ve invested all your hopes and dreams on the freedom of America, then of course you’re going to be shaken.

In our Western Church we’ve put a lot of emphasis on our freedom to freely worship God.  We are allowed to congregate and propagate and investigate without fear. We have incredible access to resources and teachings.  We can talk to strangers in coffee shops about our faith or share the Good News on the internet. Nothing has stopped us. Until now.

Undaunted, we push forward with our freedom of religion.  We get on Zoom calls. We have live gatherings on YouTube or Facebook.  We call people to repent and to pray and to trust and have faith. We are all about keeping up the freedom in our meetings. And maybe people who would never walk into a church building might actually get to hear what it’s all about for the first time in their lives.

What are we going to do about it?

Our president asked for prayer that the virus would pass over us on Passover.  Wouldn’t that be something? And all the world will see how blessed we are as Christians that God will protect us from this “China Virus”.  We are proud to be Americans where we have God on our side! Dang straight! God will protect us! God will protect our people. God will destroy our enemies and we will walk across safely on dry land, just like the Isrealites.  God will have the virus pass over us just like the Angel of Death passed over them in the final plague of the first born sons.

Except our first born son was slain. Our salvation from our slavery happened on the cross 2000 years ago, when our First Born Son, our One and Only Son, endured death for our sake.  The dry land we walk across it the dry land of Jesus Christ.  

Our faith is not in worldly protection anymore.  Our triumph is no longer freedom as man understands freedom.  Instead we stare with bold defiance at the face of our enemy and proclaim the victory won for us through Christ Jesus.  

12 For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:12

We can triumphantly say our “Passover” has already happened!  Let’s not cheapen it with miracles meant to make us feel better. 

Our lives are so free that we have lost sight of the freedom we have found in Christ.  No matter what we must endure, no matter what affliction looms over us, we can claim our freedom and trust in our Savior, not our country or our healing or our protection.  

Our King, King Jesus will remain.  Nothing can steal His victory and the freedom He won back for us on the cross.  

38 For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

So, it’s time to stop talking about death as it relates to death.  No more infographics. No more statistics. No more comparisons. No more compromise!  We are all going to die, my friends. Stop trying to beg God to save you from this inevitability of physical death.  Ask for your life in only so much as it would please Our Master. Stop mocking the healing God gave us that day on a cross on Golgotha and that bright and beautiful morning of His resurrection, by demanding something else!    

There is an eternal death, my friends, and Covid-19 can bring it the same way cancer does, the same way war does, the same way starvation does.  And Jesus Christ has already answered that death with life. No new salvation will ever be offered. No cure, no peace, no abortion law, no food for the hungry can replace the salvation of our One True King.  

When you die–and you will die–will you die to yourself, considering your own needs worthless compared to what the Lord has called us to in order to glorify the King?  Or will you cry for peace and security and watch the world fall back into death once again?

For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. Matthew 16:25

Posted on by Daisy Joan

A Case of Stolen Identity

The world has gone nuts over the Covid-19 virus.  Our homes have become quarantine zones: a refuge from a suddenly terrifying hostile environment beyond our walls.  Hand-sanitizer, bleach products and toilet paper have disappeared off grocery store shelves. Everyone can tell you that you need an N95 respirator mask, but good luck finding one.

Everyone has become some sort of apocalypse prepper.

Every conversation is about this virus.  The news is all about how bad it is, or how bad it isn’t.  We’ve heard every statistic about the R naught value, fatality rates, countries infected, citizens at risk, complication rates, and on and on.   Have you seen some of those graphs!?

You have to be a mathematician to even understand it. 

What about social distancing?  It’s really just a fancy term for becoming a hermit.  Are you a loner? No? Well you better lock yourself in a closet, because you are now!  Or at least you better be if you’re listening to the preppers and the mathematicians. Stay away from people!  If you smile at a stranger you might get infected!

Solitary confinement is the new social butterfly in town.

Public gatherings are a thing of the past. Jimmy Falon is doing monologues from his living room.  My daughter’s high school graduation? Cancelled. Disney World? Cancelled. And you can forget about sports. Cancelled, cancelled, cancelled.  

Social media and Netflix here we come.

Then there’s church. Pastors are running around trying to solve this problem of not being able to congregate their congregations!  Live streaming sermons. Small groups? You guessed it! Mostly cancelled. We’ve got Zoom calls for prayer meetings. Praise and worship on Facebook live videos.  Long distance everything. We must have no human contact. What have we become?

We’ve become isolated and frightened mathematicians, with a special emphasis in the pseudo-sciences, desperately mumbling conspiracy theories and hoarding toilet paper like doomsday preppers with no N95 masks and nothing but a box of Cheerios in our cabinet.

Can I get an amen?

We are in a war with the world over our identity right now. We need to stop allowing Covid-19 and the complications there entailed, to define who we are! 

I’ll admit it, I’ve been an anxiety ridden mess.  I’ve been talking to the Lord about it and He’s been gently reminding me of who I really am.  I am a daughter of the King of Kings, yes, and I’ve never lost sight of that, but I’m also so much more.  I’m a warrior woman. A preacher. A worshiper and a prayer. I’m a mother, a grandmother, a wife, a friend.  I’m an encourager and a writer and a speaker of truth. I am alive in Christ and I don’t have to be afraid.

Has your identity been stolen from you?  

The enemy is doing his best to throw you into fear.  But fear doesn’t have to be who you are. Go ahead and let it be a feeling, that’s fine, that’s normal, but don’t let it rule you or define you.  

9 Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

God is with you, and He’s got this.

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes, for its leaves remain green, and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.” Jeremiah 17:7-8