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The ART of Finding God in THIS Cloud – Warning! Not for the faint of heart!

So the scuttlebutt around school has been that the second year is less intense personally than the first year – more academic, but less personal turmoil.

Maybe that’s true for some. But that is not how it is playing out for me. 

Perhaps that has something to do with the fact of all that I am having to deal with –
a divorce that flies in the face of all that I desire and want for us both,
impending foreclosure of the home my children and I
have lived in for just shy of 15 years,
desiring to get a business/ministry that is filled with
years of my searching and learning and passion
up and running,
four sons at home in different stages of “leaving,”
two daughters out of the house with whom I still want to stay connected and available, my wonderful local Body of Christ, my forever family,
friends with whom I don’t want to lose touch,
and then there’s
The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology.
Classes to attend. Tons of important content to read. Papers to write.
Connections to make in between. The commute.
The simultaneous tearing down and building up and remaking of Lauree Ellen.

Oh yeah, and I blog. Not well at the moment, I am sorry to say.

But, here I am. A woman who knows well the stress and pressure and diversionary tactics of RESISTANCE as it plays out in my own life.

I am resistant to the divorce. I am resistant to let go. I am resistant to trusting that God is the One who works all things together for good ~ not me! I am resistant to the stigma I feel, the guilt, the pain, the fear, of losing hope. I don’t know how to live with the potential for glory I see and feel that is being ripped away from me. I am resistant to the loss of us.

I am resistant to the idea of losing this house, with all it represents of memories and dreams and hopes and struggles and tears and laughter and pain and joy. This is the place where I have grown and been stretched beyond imagination. This is the place of stability for my children, a stability I never had growing up. I have learned a much deeper meaning of love here, in this place. I have planted here, harvested here, built here, expressed my self here – in this place. I have known beauty and despair and darkness and hope and love and light and revelation. IN THIS PLACE.

I am resistant to believing that God could truly use me in ministry, that the revelation was truly meant for me to carry out. I am afraid. What if I can’t communicate well enough? What if I am unable to share it in a way that others can catch and hold and hear and see and be touched and changed like I have been? What if I can’t make it work and my own ineptness in the practical, business end of life leaves me where I am today – virtually penniless, without the financial means to move forward and provide for the needs of my family? What if I can’t make a difference? What if my passion is rejected and found wanting?

I am resistant to see my own inadequacy in the face of those I love.
I hate the ways I have let them down.
I hate that I have caused pain and hurt and sorrow in their lives.
I hate that there are far too many times when I have not been present, not been available, been too wrapped up in trying to find my own way through the mess, have felt entirely helpless in knowing how to meet their needs and hold them up and show them the way to peace and wholeness and joy and grace.
I have failed to loved unconditionally.
I have failed to see beyond the behavior and the cries for help that tore into my heart. A heart that is still riddled with old scars, old wounds, old tears, old fractures, old walls ~ all blocking the flow of the only source of true love – the very life and blood of Jesus poured out for me, for each and every person who has, is, or will live.
Yes, I have been utterly inadequate.

I am resistant to my imperfection. I am resistant to deal with my rebellion and idolatry.
I am resistant to deal with me.
And if I can’t deal with me, how can I be available to anyone else? I’m too busy hiding and covering up and running away from me, trying to find some semblance of wholeness in the midst of the brokenness of my shredded heart.

And before you run ahead and offer assurances of who I am in Christ,
of all that has been given on my behalf,
of all the ways that God has shown up even when I could not,
before you, like me, try to comfort and ease the pain of my “not-enough-ness” ~
wait with me. Look with me to see the brokenness.
Let the reality of the wreck and the lostness sink in.
Won’t you grieve with me? Perhaps even let the sight of all that is lacking and imperfect and broken and scattered and missing and hidden – all of it – perhaps it might touch your heart, too. Perhaps you can join me in the grief of just how far we have fallen,
…just. how. far. the blood. of Christ. has. had. to flow…
in order to reach us and call us each by name
and invite us into His Presence.
And then, perhaps, with genuine knowing, we can rise together with an understanding, a gratefulness,
that brings true humility and love and peace.

For you are great and do wondrous things;
you alone are God.
Teach me your way, O LORD,
that I may walk in your truth;
unite my heart
to fear your name.
I give thanks to you, O Lord my God,
with my whole heart,
and I will glorify your name forever.

Psalm 86:10-12 (ESV)


Yes, LORD, unite my heart, that I may give you my whole heart.

And, please, unite the heart of Your Body, Your Bride,
that together WE may give You a united, whole heart!