Wine-Stained Hands

I've been thinking a lot this week about one of the most powerful encounters with Jesus that I've ever had.  I've shared in this space before about my story of healing (I share it every year on the anniversary, November 1st), and that is a pivotal moment.  But, there is one other pivotal moment.  One that I've carried inside my heart for quite a few years, choosing not to share it publicly, to protect it, and process it, and let it make itself truly at home within me.

This week I realized that I might not ever be fully at home with this experience.  That it is an experience that will probably shape me for the rest of my life.  And as I realized that, I discovered that I am ready to share it.

It feels risky, sharing this here.  I prefer to talk in generalities in this space about my life with Jesus - to talk in quiet tones about the ongoing dance that I do between the conservative church upbringing that shaped me, and the charismatic experiences that have defined the last ten years of my life or so.  It's easier to talk in generalities than to be specific about realities.  It's easier to talk in generalities that it is to risk judgement, confusion, or misunderstanding.  And yet, this week, as I reflect on that moment, and on things that have flowed from it in my life, I can't help but feel it demand to be expressed.  And so, I'm going to try.

It's no secret to those who know me even a little that I have an active dream life (waking, but particularly sleeping).  Dreams have been a part of my reality for as long as I can remember, from the earliest nightmares as a child, to the dark, earth-shattering dreams I experienced at the height of my battle with depression, to the dreams that are oddly close to reality.  When I first encountered the idea taught by charismatics that dreams are still a primary way that God speaks to his people, I was horrified.  At the time, in the throes of depression, I slept minimally, and what little sleep I had was marked by nightmares so vivid that I would wake and lay in the dark, wondering why my bed was shaking until it would hit me that the bed was shaking because of the trembling of my body due to residual fear and adrenaline.  With this as my primary experience of the dream world, I couldn't imagine why anyone would actually pray, asking God to cause them to dream!  (In fact, I remember  agreeing to pray that for one friend, since it was her specific desire, while at the same time only quasi-jokingly informing her that I thought this was an absolutely crazy request!)

And then, then God stepped in.  My moment of healing happened, and that night was marked by the first time in years where I managed six straight hours of sleep uninterrupted by either waking or nightmares.  I assumed that my years of dreaming were about to give way to years of peaceful sleep, free from dreams of any sort.

I assumed wrong.

By the fall of 2007, I was coming to a grudging acknowledgement (acceptance was still far away) that dreams, this time falling into four categories, were going to be a long-term part of my life.  I developed four categories, "god dreams," "bad pizza dreams," "processing dreams," and (for lack of a better descriptor) "demonic nightmares."  The vast majority of the dreams I was experiencing still fell into the latter three categories, and I was choosing to simply be thankful that the last category was rarer than it ever had been in my life.  I was definitely not asking Jesus for an increase of dreams of any sort, and I continued to be highly skeptical of those who celebrated their dreams as encounters with a living God.

And then, one night, that fall, in the midst of a season in which I was experiencing a myriad of new things in my walk with Jesus, I went to sleep.

You knew that was where this was going, right?  I mean, could it be going anywhere else?

I went to sleep, and dreamed the following:

I entered a room, set for a formal banquet with snowy white table linens, gorgeous china, and sparkling crystal.  People milled around, finding seats at the table, but I held back, shy - afraid even.  The only one in the room that I recognized was Jesus and I would have done anything to escape his notice.  Slowly it dawned on me that everyone was now seated, and the only seat left at the table was in the center, directly across from Jesus.  It was the opposite of the invisibility I craved.  But, knowing everyone was watching, and desperate to have their attention turn elsewhere, I quietly made my way to my seat, keeping my eyes down.  Once seated, I refused to look up, but again somehow knew that I was being watched.  This time, it was Jesus watching me.  He was clearly waiting for something, for a blessing of sorts, I thought.  Instinctively, still never looking up, I knew how to respond. I rested my elbows on the edge of the table, and tilted my wrists towards him, cupping my hands over the center of the table, and burying my face quietly against my wrists.  He took a carafe of red wine, and poured it over my hands, until it pooled and spilled over, contrasting against the sparking white linens.

And then I woke.

There's something else I should mention.  At that stage in my life I'd never tasted wine.  I feared alcohol, having seen it's affects on the lives of some I loved.  And knowing that my own personality tended to extremes, and to addiction, in fear I'd made a choice to abstain.  It was beyond odd that wine would be a defining characteristic in my dream.

When I woke, I felt baffled.  I was astounded to have encountered Jesus in a dream (something that has never happened before or since), but was confused by the sequence of events, by the wine.

As the day went on, I puzzled over the dream, wondering at it's meaning.  A few lines from a song recorded by Steve Bell stood out in my heart and played through my thoughts:

Come back to me

with all your heart

Don't let fear keep us apart...

long have I waited for

your coming home to me

and living deeply our new life

I puzzled over the connection of the song to what I had dreamed.  Years later I see the lyrics as a description of the invitation being offered to me as I settled into my place across from Jesus.

That same day, as was often the case, I was listening to a sermon as I walked home from the train.  On that particular day, I wasn't paying very close attention as I walked, thinking instead about the dream, and the events of the day.  It suddenly occurred to me that the pastor speaking (I think it was Rob Bell) was talking about wine!  Odd, and timely.  I started paying attention just in time to hear the pastor speak the following:  "Wine is about the shalom of God, the wholeness of God, the healing of God."

I tuned the sermon back out as I began talking to Jesus, my words spilling over each other in their haste.  "Did you pour your shalom over my hands last night?  Did you pour your wholeness and healing over me, until it overflowed?"

Years later, that is the question I'm still asking.  Months after the dream, while I was in Malta, I asked someone to pour wine over my hands in reality, needing to experience in waking what I had known in sleeping.  That moment in Malta was four years ago this week, and both the dream and that time in a Maltese field have continued to work on my heart.

A view of Maltese fields taken from the walls of Mdina

When I read this post about healing earlier this week, I found myself again pondering that dream that I've quietly held all these years, telling very few, and pondering the ways it has worked in my heart since then.  I found myself thinking again in new ways about what it means that one night, in a dream, Jesus invited me out of fear, and blessed me, pouring his shalom over my hands until they overflowed.  I still ask that question of Jesus, "what does it mean that you poured this out on me?"  And I still find different answers on a regular basis.  I find partial answers in the moments when my heart travels as I pray, and in the moments my hands begin to burn as I lay them on someone and ask for healing.  I keep walking, journeying, asking questions.  I study healing, and sometimes I despair, finding it hard to believe that it is something Jesus desires.  And yet, in those moments, I close my eyes and feel the wine in the dreaming, splashing onto my hands.  I picture the color of the wine staining my skin as it overflowed my hands in Malta, spilling onto the soft, dark dirt on which I stood.  And I am reminded that however it looks, this is a moment that changed and will continue to change me, and that Jesus is constantly pouring out his shalom, his healing, his wholeness on this earth, and simply asking me to be a vessel for that, to notice and point it out.

You Ask, I Answer, Take 11

Today's You Ask, I Answer question is a follow up question from You Ask, I Answer, Take 6 which dealt with the topic of travel, and in which I mentioned that I spent about 4 weeks in the country of Malta about three years ago.

Jenny asked:

Why Malta?  I don't know much about it, but it does seem like a beautiful country.

Malta was a lovely country, though let me tell you, for the Mediterranean, it was a lot colder than I expected it might be in January.  A lot of the cold had to do with the fact that it's a tiny island and very windy.  The rest (at least in my opinion!) had to do with the fact that central heating is non-existent and everything is built out of limestone and marble, making for very chilly interiors in the colder parts of the year!

So, why Malta?

Well, I was invited to join a group of friends, as part of a team that was traveling to Malta to participate in and help to facilitate a 24/7 Prayer Room with some Maltese Christians.  My own prayer life had been changed when I'd encountered 24/7 in the last half of university, via the church that I was a part of at the time.  Prayer suddenly became something creative, active and meaningful, and God spoke and worked in my life, meeting me in surprising ways through my time in various 24/7 prayer rooms.

Some of my friends had had long term connections to the Maltese church and had made some journeys there leading up to their inviting a number of others to join them.  God had already put Malta, and the friends who were inviting me heavily on my heart, and when they asked, I felt the Lord confirming that I needed to go, and agreed to join them.  Ultimately, about 10 of us from all over Canada traveled together and participated in the prayer room and had the chance to see parts of the country of Malta, meet with various believers there, and spend time praying for this island that dates it's history with the Christian faith back to the shipwreck of St. Paul.

The trip definitely changed my life, though not at all in ways I thought it might.  The results were very different from what I expected, but, three years later I'm not sorry I went.  I still believe that God asked me to go and I believe that He has used all that resulted from that trip to shape and form my relationship with Him in new and infinitely deeper ways.

Bittersweet: Mourning the Loss and Celebrating, Too

This morning I paid off my line of credit.  And then promptly cried.  Hard.

It wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting on finding myself suddenly free from all debt except for my student loans.  But it was the reaction that came.

There is a huge sense of relief in having that debt disappear.  It frees up a significant chunk of money each month.  That in itself is a blessing since I don't have income coming in at the moment.  And the weight of knowing that I was in debt, that's gone too.

But it made me ache, too, for a number of reasons.

The first is this.  I had the money to pay off my debt because I lost my job.  For the years I was employed at the company that dismissed me in May, a mandatory portion of my paycheque was deducted and matched by the company and put into an RRSP fund that I couldn't access.  Because I lost my job in a way that some days still makes me ache a little, I could now access those funds, and I made the decision to do so in the hope that paying off the debt would be a huge financial help in the midst of the financially tighter time that has come from being so unexpectedly unemployed, and that I face as I face the reality that I will be a student for the next several years, and certainly not enjoying the relative degree of financial independence that I had while employed full time in a decent paying job.

The second reason for feeling bittersweet is the harder one, and it is the one that prompted tears.  The debt that I paid off came from a time nearly three years ago now, when I followed what I believed (and believe) was God's prompting, and then watched as nearly everything in life that I'd been certain of disintegrated around me.  The debt came as unexpected costs of travel meant that I bought groceries on my credit card to ensure that a rent cheque would clear.  It came from flights and rental cars as I traveled to various locales both to maintain my sanity (in part by collecting hugs from a dear friend) and to work to patch up rifts that seemed to grow ever larger.  I don't regret spending the money on those things, and they were my choice, but the debt, and now, the ending of it, is a reminder of the many things and relationships in which my heart was deeply invested that now seem lost to me.  It was a reminder of the cost, and somehow, the end of it makes that cost seem so much more final.

I'm not sure exactly how to explain it, but this cartoon from a blog I love, ASBO Jesus struck me as I thought about all of this today.  I laughed, hard, and a bit ruefully as I considered it.

In some ways I feel like parts of myself were lost over the last years.  And somehow paying off the debt was a reminder of those losses, and the tears a pause again to recognize them.

And yet, I am becoming more whole each day.  I choose to believe that.  That healing is coming in new and special ways.  That being free from debt opens doors even as it seems to in some ways close others.  And if I get to choose (and I increasingly believe I do), then that is what I'm going to focus on.  New beginnings, even as I pause to mourn the loss.

On My Radar Today

Donald Miller wrote this great piece on "Asking People to Leave Church"

I loved this piece on new life at Ragamuffin Diva

And, as a dear friend of mine is currently in Malta, and was attending the Papal Mass, I've been following headlines about the pope's weekend visit to Malta.

Pope Cries in Malta Victim Meeting

Pope Reaches Five Year Mark with Church Mired in Scandal

Pope Cries with Church Abuse Victims in Malta

Pope and Church Satisfied with Papal Visit

Abuse Victims Say Meeting with Pope Gave Them Peace

Malta Set to Greet Pope Benedict

Pope Benedict's Historic Malta Visit Ends

Thursday in Rome

Today is the final day in a series of four straight days of anniversaries.  While all four are deeply personal to me, the ones that are perhaps the most personal are the first, and today, the last.

Two years ago today was the day I have come to refer to as "Thursday in Rome."  It's a title that holds certain connotations for me, and, when I want to communicate what I'm experiencing in a given, difficult day, I will sometimes refer to that day as being very "Thursday in Rome-ish".


Today is probably the one anniversary that I am most free to write about too, though I remain cognizant of the others who were part of each of those days, and the fact that at least some of these moments were not mine, alone, and that I can write only from my own experience of those days. 

Thursday in Rome was something unique in my experience.

Three days prior I'd had perhaps the most profound waking encounter with Jesus of my life to date.  A deeply personal moment, that was never going to be shared.  All of that changed the next day with it's own events that are marked in my memory.  Ash Wednesday came and went in it's own profound way, and I woke that Thursday in the midst of a battle.

I was chattering as we prepared for the day, attempting to ignore or still the incredible stirrings inside of me.  It wasn't working, and one of the things I remember most was a dear friend asking me to be quiet for a bit as we prepared for the day.  Not meanly, just needing her own quiet.


I tried to lose myself in a book.  Sara Miles' "Take This Bread".  The passages I read that morning made me cringe, and the voices, the wrestle, the battle in my head only grew louder.


The group I was with dressed and headed out, walking towards St. Peter's Square, with the intention of visiting the Vatican museums.

I remember feeling uncharacteristically quiet and distant from my friends as we walked.

One eventually noticed and asked if I was okay.  I remember being angry in some ways at her question.  Irrationally angry, both that I had been noticed, and that it had taken so long to be noticed.  I remember feeling curt in my response.  Simply saying that I was not okay, but refusing to share more, to give voice to the wrestles I was experiencing.

The walk from St. Peter's Square to the entrances to the Vatican Museum is one that is burned in my memory.  So many people.  And beggars.

The beggars of Rome were stunning.  Perhaps because I'd been in Malta for four weeks, where I'd seen no evidence of beggars - refugees in camps, but not beggars.  The beggars of Rome were something different.  They were what I'd imagined always when I'd read the biblical stories of people laying at the entrances to buildings, and along the waysides where Jesus and the apostles walked.  Not the homeless drunks, mostly native americans, that I'd grown used to in downtown Calgary.  These people were often physically deformed.  In my memory, the words that go with them are "beggars of biblical proportions."

On the walk to the museum, there was one in particular, that caught the attention of our group.  It was a moment I'll never forget, and one that I was totally unable to engage with in the moment.  I remember only that he was very special, that the children and my friends stopped for a moment.

I looked away.

It's something I'm ashamed of, but I simply could not engage with that in that moment, and in the midst of the battle I was already fighting, it magnified feelings of hypocrisy that I still wrestle with.  I care deeply about social justice and poverty issues, but the poor themselves scare me.  I grew up in a home marked by the controlling fears of an abuse victim, and that is the lens I struggle against when I meet beggars on the streets of Calgary.  I see each beggar as one who is dangerous and likely to attack me, rape me, violate me.  I have a hard time seeing through that fear to the person.  I will lie and say I have no change, simply to get the person to go away.  I often don't have change, but sometimes I do, and in those moments I've lied more often than not.  It's something I'm working on.  Something God is changing in my heart.

In some ways that change started that day, in the moment I looked away.  As I think back, my memory quietly assures me that that beggar was harmless, and that he was beautiful.  That he glowed in a special way.  And today I regret that I looked away, and that moment comes to mind, and I try to engage differently (though not always with any degree of success.)  I wonder at times if he was not an angel, visible and ministering in various ways to the hearts of our little group.


We walked through the museum, viewing various things.  I remember how poignant some of those moments were.  A friend pointing out a painting, and it's description, and me cringing, for it hit deeply in the same way the passages I'd read that morning had.  Michelangelo's "The Last Judgment" in the Sistine Chapel stands out to me.  Particularly some of the darker creatures near the bottom of the painting (the only parts at eye level, really, but indicative too, of the wrestle of that day for me.)

I have a preference for invisibility - in day to day life, and in dealing with the spiritual realm.  I prefer to walk unnoticed, away from the center of attention.  Part of the immensity of that day was that I felt as if I was being followed by a spotlight, and I wanted nothing so much as to crawl into a corner and hide.

There are a few other clear memories - picnic lunch in St. Peter's Square.  Cringing as the wind carried droplets of water from the fountain and pushed them against my skin, for this too, reminded me of the issues I was questioning.  Sitting near to a dear friend, her arm around me, resting for a few moments.

From there the day grows blurry, though I know that I wrote off and on in a journal, that we visited many other locations, that we walked for hours, that eventually I let the wrestles have a voice and become tangible, sharing with a dear friend.

I thought that day about questions of communion and baptism and family.  I was wondering how I'd take the seemingly surreal events of a five week trip, the spiritual realities I'd experienced that my family simply never discussed or acknowledged, and return to my life at home.  How on earth I'd sanitize the trip into something I could share with the church I'd grown up in, the church I was attending at the time, that had so generously donated money and prayed for me as I traveled.  How I'd create a "Mr. Clean" version of the events.  And how I'd share at all, when so many of the things that were coming from the trip seemed to be only just beginning, and so deeply internal within me - things not even I understood.

Two years later, and that day still stands out in my memory.

There have been many other days when I felt I was being followed by that spot light.

Other days where I have wrestled and continue to wrestle with those same questions.

There was a longing birthed that day of which I am still waiting and praying for completion and fulfillment.

And so, today, I pause and remember, and pray again for all of those things that were stirred within me.  With thanks for the changes that have begun to be formed, and with the hopeful longing for the fulfillment of Paul's words in Philippians, likely written in that same city in which I walked, "that God, who began a good work within me, will carry it on to completion in the day of Christ Jesus."

Surreal Anniversary

It's Friday morning.

Another "anniversary" day.  This one is different again.  2 years ago today I was walking the stations of the cross in a monastery garden in Malta.  That walk had some interesting and far reaching results.  That day remains one of the more surreal experiences in my memory.

Have you ever seen the scene from one of the first seasons of Grey's Anatomy, where there's an unexploded bomb in a guy, and Meredith is in the operating room, and the others are scattered around the hospital trying to figure out what to do with themselves in the midst of this crisis?  Izzie has the totally opposite stress reaction to what would be normal, and is finding everything hilariously funny, even the things that are so very not funny.

That day two years ago was like that.  In fact, I remember calling that scene from Grey's to mind in the midst of that day. 

I laughed in a panicked, I"ve completely lost it kind of way that day, sitting in a private chapel that we'd been invited into.  It's that somewhat crazed laughter that really sticks out.  That I'd hit a breaking point after four weeks of crazy experiences, and the completely surreal nature of the events of that day just struck me as funny.  It took some time to control that laughter.

There were tears later, and fear.

Laying on my face in that same little chapel, only moments later.

A meeting of eyes that is burned in my memory.

A moment where I sensed God asking something of me, and I simply didn't, couldn't comply.  That moment has taught me much, and has been the source of silent "what if's?" ever since.

Today I remember a walk to the cross, a tiny puppy named Simon that shaped all of us who were there, the exposure of hidden things, and laughter.

Because looking back, there is something incredibly funny in just how surreal that day really was.

One day I'll share the whole story.  But today, today I'm just remembering.  Grieving a little, and laughing a little too.

Looking Back

Two years ago today I had one of the most powerful encounters with Jesus of my life.

I was half a world away and watched something I'd seen in a dream play out in real life.

It was nothing like what I expected.

The days following weren't what I'd expected either.

The years in between then and now have been some of the most difficult of my life, and at times I've resented the way that day played out.

Today, I simply remember.  I remember the shared moments, and the things in those moments that only my heart can know.

And I'm grateful for those who stood with me.

And for Jesus who met me in a field that day.

I remember the smell of wine mixing with the soft, freshly tilled soil.

And I remember the line that started it all, the line that interpreted the dream in the first place.  A line from a Rob Bell sermon, long forgotten now... "Wine is about the shalom of God, the wholness of God, the healing of God."

And I'm grateful for that shalom poured out that day, and in a myriad of ways since.

Praying...

Praying tonight, for this family.

new year coming

I was up most of the night.

Talking with a friend.

Praying.

Crying.

Some combination of all three at times.

This morning my heart hurts.

I am angry.

And exhausted.

I'm done.

With so many of the things that have marked this crazy year.

I am letting my heart look back, and remembering the many, many oh so broken, bittersweet, beautiful moments.

I am writing. One last ditch effort to give voice to my heart. Words that may or may not ever make it out of my journal or my draft email folder, but words I need to record anyway.

There's a new year coming. And I pray, that in the last hours of this present one, many things will draw to a close.

It's time.

To rise and walk.

To heal.

To let go.

To be free.

For all of this to draw to a close, that new life may again begin to sprout.

If 2008 was "a time for tearing down" then I pray that 2009 will be a "time for rebuilding" a "time for healing."

Headlines

Christmas Massacres Killed 400

Migrants Rescued Off Malta Coast

In the news...

Green Tea is good for the Heart

Mediterranean Crossing - the issue of North African refugees trying to gain access to Europe. I visited a refugee camp for these refugees when I was in Malta earlier this year.

Reading at just the right moments...

This is my 1000th blog post, and it seems fitting to devote it to books that have changed my life or my way of thinking.

Have you ever read a book that came at just the right time in your journey - speaking into the places you are occupying in ways that astonish you with their piercing depths and insights?

It has happened to me a number of times over the years.

The moment I was searching desperately to understand if there really was a Holy Spirit, and what difference that made anyway, and my then pastor sent me to the bookstore on a mission to buy a book titled, "Surprised by the Power of the Holy Spirit". I devoured that book in three days, making notes in bold red pen in the margins. Talking back to the chapters in comments at the end. Underlining, circling, and looking up every scriptural reference that Jack Deere, the author made.

The moment when I opened the pages of Renee Altson's "Stumbling Towards Faith" and couldn't close it until I'd finished. When, in the midst of a severe depression, where I went to bed each night and prayed that the Lord would let me die in my sleep that night, I discovered that I was not in fact nearly as alone as I felt. I discovered that there were others out there who were asking the same deeply intense questions as I was.

It happened again while I was traveling at the beginning of this year.

Before I'd left, on the basis of a recommendation of a blog I read (ysmarko), I'd ordered a book online to take along on my trip.

"Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion" by Sara Miles rocked my world. It spoke to the deep themes I was thinking about and beginning to work through as I traveled. In that way that can only be ordained by God, in just the moment I would be working through a topic or idea, the next words that Miles wrote would speak directly to those thoughts.

I'm presently on my second trip through "Take This Bread" and I'm finding the same thing happening again. The Lord is using a book that few in the circles I grew up in would even consider reading. A book written by a radical left-wing lesbian journalist, who walked into a church one day, took communion, and met Jesus, and now spends her days feeding the poor through a food pantry around the altar of the church where she first took communion.

Tonight, I located online several articles by Miles, all of which are written in the strikingly poignant style of her book, and all of which are speaking to things I'm thinking about these days as well. I'll link to each article and tell you what part of my thoughts they're speaking to.

By Water and By Fire (thoughts on baptism)

Ashes and Dust (thoughts from Ash Wednesday 2007)

Like Lambs Among Wolves (thoughts on violence)

Anatomy of Reconciliation (thoughts on a broken world)

Miles' book begins with the following two paragraphs, and I can't recommend strongly enough that you pick up a copy and make your way through her thoughts on bread and food and war and prayer.

One early, cloudy morning when I was forty-six, I walked into a church, at a piece of bread, took a sip of wine. A routine Sunday activity for tens of millions of Americans - except that up until that moment I'd lead a thoroughly secular life, at best indifferent to religion, more often appalled by its fundamentalist crusades. This was my first communion. It changed everything.

Eating Jesus, as I did that day to my great astonishment, led me against all my expectations to a faith I'd scorned and work I'd never imagined. The mysterious sacrament turned out to be not a symbolic wafer at all but actual food - indeed, the bread of life. In that shocking moment of communion, filled with a deep desire to reach for and become part of a body, I realized that what I'd been doing with my life all along was what I was meant to do: feed people.

And so I did. I took communion, I passed the bread to others, and then I kept going, compelled to find new ways to share what I'd experienced.

Appearance and Comfort

Can I be completely shallow for a few minutes and tell you that I looked really good today?

That I wore a really cute jean skirt, and one of my favorite slightly bohemian tops, with great earrings and a scarf from Malta. That I paired the skirt with comfy tights (since it's winter) and these really cute suede boots that I also bought in Malta.

That I showered and did my hair. That I wore my favorite perfume, and took time to carefully do my makeup.

That I felt pretty, and it was nice to feel that way.

Can I also just say that I am just presently taking great pleasure in the fact that I've come home for the evening, scrubbed my face clean of the make-up, re-applied some lip balm (my lips are dry since returning from the Mediterranean), and changed clothes. I'm comfortable and happy. I'm wearing my favorite yoga capris, and a flowy east indian top that someone gave my roommate, and she was wearing yesterday to clean our house. I commented on the top, and she asked if I wanted it, since she didn't particularly like it, and would never wear it out of the house. I jumped on the chance, and am already figuring out how to debut it in my everyday wardrobe, but, for the moment, I'm wearing it with yoga capris and relaxing comfortably on the couch.

Pretty is great. But comfortable is pretty good too.

Pictures

So, I just spent probably 2 hours putting a bunch of my photos from the trip up on facebook albums... If you're interested in seeing them, you can either look me up on facebook, OR, follow the links below.

Malta 1
Malta 2
Malta 3
Malta 4
Malta 5
Malta 6
Malta 7

Rome 1
Rome 2
Rome 3
Rome 4

London

Home

Made it home. Finally.

Not exactly sure how I feel about that yet, but looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight, and not sharing a bed/bedroom for the first time in a month.

More thoughts/some pictures later.

Oh, and if you're looking for a great place to visit - I highly recommend Rome.

New Things

Not sure what to write. I leave Malta at 5:55 am tomorrow morning. I think it's going to take me a long, long time to understand the things this trip has done in my heart and life.

There are new things springing up within me. Sometimes they scare me, sometimes they excite me. Generally they feel as if they are going to bring both great pain, and great beauty. But I think that all the really beautiful things in life do that.

I had a beautiful moment in a field yesterday, with two friends. One that was just for me, and not be shared. One I've needed, full of grace and healing and peace.

Tomorrow I head for Rome for a few days, than London for a few days, before heading home to Calgary. I also head into Lent tomorrow. I'm beginning the process of having a conversation with the Lord about what Lent will look like this year. It tends to be a profound season in my life.

I'm grateful for the places, the people, the things I've experienced over the last month. But I still feel as if there aren't many words for it. I'm thankful that several of my dearest friends have been here with me, sharing the experience with me. It would be hard to have gone through this trip alone - to have no one to hash it over with upon my return to Canada and the world of day to day life.

I think transitions are probably coming when I get home, too. Not ready to give voice to those yet, but quite sure they're in the works.

I'm going home with a renewed desire to experience life deeply. To pursue the things I'm interested in.

I'm going to take yoga, and photography. I'm going to learn Spanish. I'm going to continue to dream of ways to make it possible to continue to travel like this for lengths of time. I'm going to plan a trip to Peru. I'm going to work at allowing my heart to be open to the world. I'm going to pray about a trip to Africa. I'm going to figure out what it means to walk out who I really am in the context of my day to day life, and not just in the context of a month away from my routines, on the other side of the planet. I'm going to spend time with the friends I really value, and work on developing relationship with a few that I'd like to know better. I'm going to find people in Calgary to pray with on a regular basis.

Okay... I think I'm done for now... I have a few emails to send before heading into the city to do some last minute shopping...

Internet probably won't be that accessible for the rest of my trip, so this may be it until I get home. See you in a week or so!

High Places

The walk this morning was great. Beautiful. I'll try to put pictures up sometime soon.

I continue to witness things. Not often understanding, not always seeing clearly, but always witnessing.

Until later...

To Witness

It would seem that my role on this island, this team is simply to witness. Not even to always understand, but to simply witness the acts of those I'm traveling with. The moments in which they encounter the Lord, the prophetic moments.

This morning that's going to look like me walking with two or three other people from the home where we're staying to the highest point on the island (a cross, of all things). The others from our team will meet us there for a time of prayer around 10:30. Two hours of walking, simply as a witness to the things others on our team are feeling called to.

I'm okay with that.

I Need a Title...

Okay... I'm being harassed from 2 sides about my inability to title things...

The first photo is a painting from the prayer room... lots of significance to it, I'll explain sometime...

The second is Dar, Bethany and I sitting on a wall at the Citadel in Gozo. Loved Gozo. Very peaceful there.

Trip still going well. Internet access has been less than, well, accessible.

Tired. Very tired.... and giddy... and everyone sitting around me has been enjoying wine for most of the evening... not helping with the giddy thing.

So, I think I'll sign off now. Night!

bad connections

So... the internet connection has been sketchy the last week or so again. There are about 6 of us sitting in a cafe in Valetta at the moment, with our laptops out, catching up with the outside world.

We're a little stir crazy... working through some stuff... keep praying for us...

Hoping to sort out the internet situation on Wednesday.

Later!