He's Got The Power!

In my Bible this morning, this story about Jesus caught my attention:

"There was a wedding in Cana...and Jesus and His disciples were invited. When they ran out of wine, the mother of Jesus said to Him, 'They have no wine'...Now there were six waterpots...Jesus said to them, 'Fill the waterpots with water.' And they filled them up to the brim. And He said to them, 'Draw some out now, and take it to the master of the feast.' And when the master had tasted it, he said...'You have kept the good wine until now!' "

Something very simple, yet powerful, stood out to me. Jesus told the servants to fill the pots with water. I'm sure they were wondering why He would ask for water when they really needed wine. But they obeyed, and just like that, Jesus turned it into wine.

Now, I've read this story dozens of times; I think I'm so used to it that I don't often realize how preposterous this seems!!! I've gotten calloused to the fact that this is a huge miracle! One that only God could do!!!

How in the world could I ever doubt Him? Since He can do that, He can do anything!

Do you have something in your life that seems as basic and uninteresting as water? Give it to Jesus! He can and will turn it into something glorious for His kingdom! I find myself so often trying and trying to be enough and accomplish everything on my own, and you know what? I end up with only water. But when I let God work and be in control, wow! There's no limit to what He can do! He can work through my bumbling mistakes and turn them into fruit with eternal rewards.

Today, I encourage you to let God be God in your life....obey Him when He asks you to offer him water. Though it may seem small and insignificant, our God is not - He is more than powerful enough to turn it into wine!!!

Beauty?

It was a Sunday morning in early March, the temperature just below freezing....warm enough to create puddles during the day, but cold enough at night to form a layer of ice on top. It had been a while since I had taken a morning walk, and I was feeling the need to do so. Sunday mornings are my favorite times to walk; a time to get my head all cleared out and focus on Jesus before the busyness of making phone calls and making sure everyone's awake and ready to be picked up for church.

The morning was rather dreary, the snow dirty and the sidewalks slushy. I stepped over a frozen puddle and noticed the design of the ice was beautiful, kind of like a feather or a fan or a group of feathers. It's hard to explain, but it was amazing. I stooped to look more closely, and couldn't help but be in awe. So intricate, so perfect...and all in the midst of a dull-looking city where there's so much pain and hopelessness.

I realized that I love little things like that...simple things that God puts in my life that remind me that He is a God of beauty - THE God of Beauty. At first glance, there wasn't much that was beautiful on that morning in Thunder Bay. But when I actually stopped to notice the beauty, it was impossible to miss.

And I think that's why I like this city so well. I love finding beauty in the places where it's least expected.

It's easy, in the mountains of Colorado or the beaches of Florida, to stand in wonder at God's beautiful creation. But what about in a dreary, cold city where people are living on the streets and girls are selling themselves just to support their habit or to feed their kids? What about a place where drug addicts die from an accidental overdose or just kill themselves to escape it all? Where's the beauty? It's hard to find. But it's there.

I see it splashed all over this city, when I'm looking for it. I see it in the little pink heart with the words "Jesus loves you!" hand-written, taped to a window in the East End. I see it in the mother who's playing hockey in the driveway with her two-year-old. I see it in the generosity of my friend who treats me to Tim Horton's whenever she has money. I find it in the smile of a girl who doesn't have much to smile about. And yes, it's in the intricate design of the ice covering the muddy puddles.

It's there. When I'm looking, I find it.

May I revel in the beauty that God has placed all around me, even in the places I least expect it. And may I praise Him...

Masks. We all learn to wear them. Early on in life, we learn to cover up our disappointments and hurts by laughing it off..."Yeah, you're right, it's not really a big deal"..."I was just kidding"...When in reality, part of us has been wounded and we're trying to cover it up. We don't want to be vulnerable. "Don't let anyone hurt you", our masks scream at us. "Use me to cover your feelings...you can hide behind me. Do whatever it takes: smile, laugh, joke, be bad, be perfect...be whatever people want to see, because that's what they will believe." We feel safe behind our masks. "Of course I don't care"..."that doesn't affect me", we tell our friends. We don't want to let them see our feelings, because what would they do about them anyway? Eventually we decide that we're better off just handling our feelings by ourselves. Cover everything with a mask. If everyone expects you to laugh, then laugh. Laugh even when you feel like crying, because it's never safe to cry...not unless you're all alone, and you have to cry by yourself.

Eventually, it becomes habit, and we don't even realize that our responses aren't actually how we feel...but we've trained ourselves to respond positively (or in whichever way is expected), no matter if that's the truth or not. Life becomes easier with the mask. So much easier, in fact, that when someone invites you to remove the mask, it is terrifying. "NO!" your mask screams. "Don't you remember all the work you've put into making me perfect? I fit your face exactly. You don't know what they'll say or do when they see what's really behind the mask; I don't even think you know anymore. Don't do it - it'll be too hard."

And so you keep on the mask. But...there are people in your life who are begging you to remove it....to show them what's really going on inside of you...the truth that the mask is hiding. They reassure you that it doesn't matter what you're hiding; they will still love you. And so you're caught in a battle. On one side, you want to be rid of the mask; it sounds so gloriously freeing to remove it and be exposed for who you know you really are. But, on the other side, you are trying desperately to keep the mask in place. The risk is too great...the stakes too high. It's easier to keep the mask. It's more comfortable. It feels more safe. But you realize that you must come to a decision.

Risk. Vulnerability. Truth. These words and the implications that go with them are terrifying to you. "How can I risk being vulnerable and probably rejected because of it?", you ask. On the other hand...how can I risk keeping the mask on my face?...on my heart?...on my soul??? I do long to be known....to be seen for who I really am...to really be known deeply - not just as I'm perceived, but as who I really am deep inside. Yes, that is what I really want. It sounds tempting. Yes, hard - extremely hard. But...what if I get hurt again? Isn't that why I put on the mask in the first place - to protect myself from being hurt? And it worked exactly as it was supposed to. So much less feeling...so much less pain. I don't know what I'll do if I get hurt after I take off the mask. The best and only way I've ever known to handle pain has been to not feel it - to not let if affect me. I don't know if I can handle pain. I don't want it. I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid to be weak.

So many thoughts and feelings. Feelings? I never used to be able to feel this deeply. It...hurts. But I think it's ok...yeah, I'm actually starting to be ok with feeling pain again. Pain...my heart hurts...the mask is decaying. Sometimes I desperately want it to stay...I still want to hide. It feels more safe. But...I'm realizing that there's real safe and counterfeit safe. The mask was my counterfeit safe. It only lied to me about the deep security it could bring me. Now that I'm losing the mask...oh, I feel alive again! I feel like it's ok to cry. I still cry alone...I probably always will. But I do know that there are safe people with whom I can cry when I need to. And the wounds....it still hurts to feel the wounds...But I've found that they never become healed unless they are felt again...and embraced. Embraced as a part of my past and how they have affected who I am today...but then...let go...healed.

I had always been sensitive and perceptive to people who are masking who they really are and what is going on inside of them. I prided myself on being able to see through that to the person inside. But when I myself was told that I'm wearing a mask, I was appalled - of all things! me, wearing a mask. I thought that I was good...that my heart was transparent and that I was close to perfect. After all...I was so good. But...God is a God of truth. It is impossible to be purified in His fire and still retain the mask. Yes, it is fire, and yes, it is excruciatingly painful. But...feeling pain means being alive - killing pain means killing all other feelings as well. I've decided that feeling the pain is worth it. It's impossible to feel true joy if we have not allowed ourselves to feel pain.

Masks. These words were screaming to be released from inside of me...to be set free in writing. For it is not only because of my own journey that I have written, but because of the masks I see all around me. So many kids...teenagers, especially...they laugh at others...they laugh at themselves...but what are they actually feeling? Their guard starts to be let down when they're in a safe place for a time, but as soon as they are gone, the mask is harder and tougher than ever. How can they be released? It breaks my heart. But I cannot simply rip the mask off of their face...it must be allowed to be destroyed. And I know this will only happen when they are safe. When it's safe to relax. When they know they are loved. When they realize that who they are without the mask really is who they were created to be, and is much more beautiful than the person whom the mask has created. I long for them to be freed from the mask; to break it and shatter it into a million pieces. I love seeing the mask crack and let out a small piece of the real person. I love being able to love them with the intense love of Jesus - the love that will not let them go. For He is the only place that will always be safe...always available...always true.

Jesus. Oh Jesus, break the masks. Your love is more powerful...the masks will never be able to stand up to You. You have come to heal the brokenhearted. Please continue to break us, dear Jesus. Life with You is infinitely better than life with the masks. Make them see that, God...may they not be able to ignore that fact. And may I never, ever, ever again...be satisfied with the mask.

It was a small community nestled among the lakes and trees of the North. I was there to help with a three-day girl’s camp. We were sleeping in bush tents and eating food cooked over a fire: bush camping at its best! The past two nights and three days had been exhausting, fun and rewarding. I loved the girls, and we had become close friends. But endless hours of swimming, playing games, making crafts and singing had taken their toll on all of us, and we were tired.

So you can imagine that a thunderstorm was not eagerly anticipated as we got ready for bed that night. The wind had started to pick up, and the sky was getting darker than usual at that time of the evening. The girls were starting to get scared because they had heard there was a storm coming, and they just wanted to go home.

I was in my tent, trying to get my six girls to settle down and settle an argument about who should sleep where. None of them wanted to sleep at the end of the row, for fear of getting wet when the rain came.

One of them started crying.

“She’s crying because of her brother”, one of them stated sadly. “He got run over by a car two years ago.”

My heart broke for my dear little girl…I hadn’t known this, and I wondered why this came up now…when we were just trying to get the girls settled down ??

She had had a nose-bleed earlier in the day, and now, because of her crying, it was bleeding again. I was trying to hold her and comfort her, while trying to stop the bleeding at the same time. Her sobbing was making the bleeding worse and worse, and it just wasn’t letting up.

“Yeah, it was an accident, but it killed him. He was really young”, I heard the other girls in the background.

“They’re talking about my brother”, she said through her tears; which, of course, continued the bleeding.

“I want to go home to my grandma”, she sobbed. “I miss my brother. Why did he have to die?”

I have no answers, and can hardly concentrate anyway, because of the constant flow of blood and the growing pile of reddened tissues on the ground. I try to keep it from dripping onto her clothes, and I notice that it’s all over my sleeve.

God, why is all of this happening right now? You’d think we could spend the last night in peace, since all of us are worn out already. I don’t want my sweatshirt to be stained with blood. I wonder if Florence Nightingale ever felt like this. I always picture her sweetly nursing those soldiers back to health, and never minding it a bit. Same with Mother Teresa. Am I just a bad missionary? I am human, after all. They were too. Did they ever feel like this?

Then the other leader comes in. “Our tent is made of cloth, so we’re getting soaked. We’ll have to split up between the other two tents.”

“Here, can you take care of her for a minute?” I say to my assistant, “Just try to stop the bleeding and keep it from getting all over.”

So we start making room for four more girls in our tent; moving sleeping bags, mattresses and backpacks, while trying not to get too close to the water that has puddled on the sides of the tent.
All the while, the girl is still crying and nose keeps bleeding, although I think by now it’s slowly starting to lessen. But now another one is crying. Her mom had died the previous fall; her dad passed away that winter. Her heart is breaking, and the girls are trying to comfort her.

I go back to the bleeding one. She’s somewhat calmed down now, and the bleeding is subsiding. She calms down enough to lie down, and eventually goes to sleep.

I see that the rest of the girls are somewhat settled, so I finally go to my sleeping bag and slip in. I hear soft sobs coming from the one laying across from me.

“What’s wrong, Hailey?” I ask her.

“My grandma died and I miss her,” she said softly.

Yes God, that’s all I need: another crying girl.

So we talk for a little while. We try to sing, and I think I even pray for her. We can hear the whispering from the girl who lost both parents and the comforting words from the other girls. Their care for each other touches my heart.

They’re getting more tired, but they’re still not sleeping, which is all I want to do right now.

God, can You please just make the rain go away? I just want to sleep. Why did You send the rain tonight anyway? Couldn’t the nice weather have lasted at least until tomorrow?

I try to go to sleep, but I’m ranting at God in my mind, and trying to keep the tent wall from blowing in when I hear:

“I think I know why it’s raining.”

I roll over in my sleeping bag and look at the girl whose grandma died.

“What do you mean?” I ask her, wanting to hear a good explanation.

“Remember that song that we’ve been singing, where it says, ‘He laughs with us, He cries with us…’? I think it’s raining because God is crying too…He’s crying with us.”

“Hailey, I think you’re exactly right”, I whisper.

I lay back down, my heart full and my eyes filling with tears. Her insightful observation was exactly right, and captured the heart of God beautifully. He had given us gorgeous weather up until then; we had played in the sun, laughed and so much fun together. But that night, when our hearts were hurting and tears were falling…God cried with us.

He could’ve held the rain off…we could’ve finished camp with not a cloud in the sky.

But that’s not real life.

Yes, it’s great to have sunny days. We love being able to bask in the sunshine and not have to worry at all. But the rain always comes, and it’s hard. We cry, we miss the ones we have lost, and we wonder why it’s happening. But that’s when we huddle together and share our hearts; that’s when we welcome others in who need a safe place, because we know it could have been us in that other tent. That’s when we cry and find comfort through our tears, and through the tears of others. And yes, sometimes we hurt so much that it feels like we are bleeding and it doesn’t stop.
But, my friends, we have a Savior who has come to heal the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind; to set at liberty all who are oppressed. He’s here. He’s crying too.

So may we welcome the rain…May we allow ourselves to weep and to mourn and to feel the pain. And when the sun does break through the clouds…may we celebrate in joyful worship of our Healer and Lover, Jesus Christ.

I sing a simple song of love

To my Saviour...to my Jesus

I'm grateful for the things You've done

My loving Saviour, my precious Jesus

My heart is glad that You've called me Your own

And there's no place I'd rather be

Than in Your arms of love

In Your arms of love

Holding me still

Holding me near

In Your arms of love

Holding me still...

Holding me near...

In Your arms of love

"Arms of Love", Kutless, Strong Tower