Just a note to let you know the blog is back after a brief period of technical difficulties. Thanks for your patience.

Faith

During the years, there has been a huge transformation in the way I pray. As I wrote about yesterday on Facebook, Father taught me about using that deep place of the heart in conjunction with my throne. This is where my prayers became very effectual. I think I can safely say that every one of them comes to fruition.

But I hesitate to use the word prayer because what I’ve learned doesn’t resemble anything I used to do in church. Sometimes it doesn’t involve words at all. And often it is simply a softly spoken release, of sorts.

The question of when all things would be restored, popped into my mind during a conversation about a mouse.

The little critter got into the house and then to my desk. Next, he climbed up the back of it, strolled out to the front edge and stared at me.

I presumed he had taken control, so I left. But mostly, I just reacted like a girl.

Let me share my revelation about accountability because I’m not sure everyone truly understands what is happening when their group or church or doctrine teaches them to be accountable to their leaders and to each other.

It simply means that you have given others the ability to question your actions and behavior, and then demand (in love, of course) that you resume a course of action you chose at a past date.

Have you ever leafed through the years of your life looking for those times you affected another’s life in the name of your faith? And then wondered if that effect was positive or negative at its core?

I took this mental journey while driving Interstate 80 from Kansas to Colorado last week. It’s a long, rather boring stretch of road that generally lulls most passengers to sleep, leaving the driver with lots of time for contemplation.

I wasn’t looking for the moments I’ve touched people with Love. But rather the ones when I touched them in the name of my dogma, doctrine, or tenets of my faith. The laws. The rules.

After struggling once again with the results of “trying on” someone else’s idea of who we are with God, I have laid down another facade in favor of who I truly am with him. Exclusively unique.

It is after all, the identity of each of us. Singular. Peculiar.

For each teacher and preacher who lead us toward their vision of unity with God, we hear a familiar ring in their words and then “try on” their vision. Much like we would try on a new job, or a new pair of jeans. We are drawn by the presentation into dressing up in their perception.

“After his suicide was accomplished, Judas lifted up his eyes in a black flame of darkness.

He remembered his betrayal and his defection… his silver thrown… the eyes of his master as he kissed him in the garden.

Tormented by his thoughts he wept and gnashing his teeth and tongue he opened his eyes to see far off beyond a great gulf a speck of light which was paradise… he saw Abraham and Issac… holding hands and dancing… Jacob and Rachel sitting and watching children play… and at that moment appeared a thief, unrepentant and standing in the midst of the patriarchs… with rejoicing, they all stood and began to dance.

I’ve met a few unpleasant things on my path lately and yet, I know that living from my inner kingdom will make the hard places change.

This is about having the power of God, the IAM. One with me. It means I am him. And he is me. We are an inseparable Being, called IAM. Along with all the inherent qualities that makes him God, and all the qualities that makes me, me. We are IAM.

This is colossal! The reality of being One with IAM blows the box of our menial worm traditions wide open and disintegrates all our ceilings. But how can this be? If we were able to be One with God, wouldn’t you think someone would have done it by now? Oh, that’s right, Jesus did. And he said, “Follow me” which actually meant to follow in the path he cleared for us.

When both my parents died, I was in my late twenties and living in Denver, a thousand miles away from any family. Aside from the tremendous mourning, I gradually discovered an ironic freedom. A life without parental expectations, judgments, or disappointments. It’s true that the price for it was the loss of their companionship and wisdom.

But there it was. My new reality. A future I could paint whatever color I chose. And if it was the wrong color, no one would suffer but me. Plus, I could change my mind and choose another color as many times as I wanted.

“For the Spirit-wind blows as it chooses. You can hear its sound, but you don’t know where it came from or where it’s going. So it is within the hearts of those who are Spirit-born!” John 3:8

There is a Spirit ebb and flow. It’s like the wind and we can’t know which way it will blow.

That may explain why my articles here and my posts on Facebook seem to disappear and become absent sometimes. Most of my writing depends heavily on that blowing spirit. It’s the essence of joy and passion. And without it, I just don’t have interest in writing.

It’s not a good way to run a business, for sure, although when I was working a regular job, I still relied on Spirit heavily for inspiration to guide and strengthen me every day. But this isn’t the same as opening the gates of restriction to the freedom of Spirit ebb and flow in writing. At least not for me.