Hints of Failure Part 3.5

If you haven't read them yet, catch on up with Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

Part 3.5: The Knees Continued

On the second day of the tournament, I watched my sister's team win another game. While them play, stepping periodically into the spirit to make the blanket of clouds recede, I noticed five or six girls with knee braces either playing, warming up, or watching. I reflected on my own knee injuries. I thought about the first time my friends and I laid hands and witnessed healing - an ACL.

I want to heal every knee I touch, I thought. 

Then you’d better start touching knees, Dad replied. 

Just then, as if cued by a script I wasn't given, a girl entered the gym on crutches witha familiar looking brace on her knee. She wore the colors of Blue Mountain Community College - a team well favored to win the tournament (and did, in fact, go on to do so).

Blue Mountain was cheering for Spokane from the sidelines, shouting in support of Eastern WA. The girl on crutches sat down several rows in front of me, surrounded by a boy and friends and parents. You'd better start touching knees...

After Brittany’s team won, and before I said my goodbyes, I pulled Brittany aside. “Let’s go lay hands on that girl with the crutches,” I said. 

“That is the coach of Blue Mountain’s daughter,” she said. Apparently this was reason to shy away from appearing crazy in front of her. 

“Do you know if she tore he ACL?” 

“Yeah, she did. A week ago. And she’s still on crutches. Isn’t that weird?”

“Did your doctor give you crutches?”

“No, he told me not to baby it.” We laughed, and I made my way to the girl on crutches. By now, Blue Mountain was on their own court warming up. The girl was standing near the bleachers, bearing no weight on her left, braced leg, still surrounded by a gaggle of people. 

I put my hand on her should to get her attention and said hello, trying to look friendly. “What happened to your knee?” I asked. 

She smiled, trying to act like she knew me, because I was acting like I knew her. “Tore more ACL right in half,” she said.

“So do you play for Blue Mountain?”

She didn’t, she explained, but helps her dad. She tore her ACL hitting with the team during practice. While we talked, none of the surrounding gaggle paid us any attention. They turned to each other and let the girl on crutches talk with this other girl no one knew. 

“We don’t know each other,” I said brightly. For a moment, relief replaced the girl’s well-masked confusion. The confusion returned quickly, though, when she realized that didn’t explain why we were talking.  “I’m Kaylani, I played for your assistant coach in high school. My sister plays for Spokane. I actually need practice healing knees, oddly enough. My sister tore her ACL too, and I’ve done damage to my own. Do you want some healing?”

Through the Open Window

A Dream and a Healing

Recently, I’ve been imagining owning my own coffee shop. I’ve imagined this for years, but lately its been more matter of fact, not if but when. One of the ideas I’ve been getting really excited about is using the shop’s space after hours for creative, community centered events.

"The dream’s images came to mind again.
This time, I couldn’t ignore them..." 

For example, I’d love to shove the tables aside and teach yoga classes. They’d be a perfect environment to get people healed, and I’d call them “Yoga with Jesus.”

While imagining this, Dad reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend, Hannah. “I feel like I’m getting a word from God about yoga instructor certification, but I don’t think it’s for me. Maybe it’s for you,” she said. I smiled at the memory, brushing it aside as unlikely and implausible for a wide array of reasons.  

---------

In the dark hours of Tuesday morning, I had a dream. I remember a few specific images from the dream, nothing more. First, a pair of hands resting on someone’s back. The person wore a heather grey shirt, the dream’s perspective gave me no further detail. 

A moment later, I was given a broader view. I saw a wooden table that looked carved straight from a tree, from which an umbrella loomed. I was also engaged in a heated conversation with my employers that had me feeling heavy and oppressed. (I’ve never had such an interaction, I don’t expect to. I’ll interpret this part in a moment.)

When I woke up, the weight of that conversation stuck around. I felt flustered, unheard. For the most part the dream slipped my mind - had I not been wrestling with this negativity I’d have forgotten it entirely. “What the heck was that about?” I asked Dad. 

He reminded me, “You asked for adventure, correct?”

That was true, I agreed. I smiled, and the negativity I’d carried in from the dream realm dissolved. Eyes still bleary, I rolled over and pulled my computer onto the bed. There was a blog post I’d been putting off for a couple days ("Between the Coaster...") and I was feeling oddly eager to write it. Whenever that happens, I like to take advantage right away. 

I opened my computer, clicked the internet icon, and waited for Blogger to load. An error page popped up, informing me I didn’t have an internet connection. Being that I connect via the router in my apartment complex’s office, which is across the parking lot, this happens frequently. Sometimes closing and opening my computer gives me a fresh connection. 

I closed my computer and opened it back up. Multiple times. At the top of my screen, an exclamation mark blinked over my connection strength indicator. Since I’d never seen an exclamation used in such a way, I took it to indicate I wasn’t going to have any luck connecting to internet from home today. I packed up my things, jammed my helmet over my hair, and rode my moped through the rain to the coffee bungalow I work at. 

Though seating is outdoor, there’s a hefty table that looks as though it was carved from a tree with a wide umbrella that keeps at least a small portion of the table dry. A woman, one of my regulars, was already sitting in one of the dry seats, apparently waiting for a friend. I sat kitty-corner from her, pulled out my computer, and opened up Blogger with ease. 

Unfortunately, I recalled that much of my material for said post was derived from Facebook. I logged in, and was thoroughly distracted from the task at hand. On top of that, my table partner’s friend had arrived and they were chatting up a storm. Huddled around the driest parts of the table as we were, I couldn’t help but overhear most of their conversation. It’s incredibly hard to write anything when you’re listening to other people’s conversations, let me tell you.

I overheard some important details, though. Mainly, that my regular’s name was Alice (I’m terrible about exchanging names), and she’d recently injured her back. Though she didn’t have the means to got to a doctor or chiropractor, she has several friends who are healers and massage therapists she could visit. 

The images from my dream flashed through my mind, but I was busy and mostly ignored them. Except to note that Alice wore a heather gray shirt, just like the one the dream had shown me.  

The Unhinged Servant - Part 3

I'm writing for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), so my fingers and thoughts have been rather tied up. An Associated Press article released today caught my attention, though, and re-sparked some thoughts I was in the process of growing from and sharing here. 

Part 2: Boundless Leaders

November 7 at You Are Never Alone, an Occupy Sandy
outreach center. AP Photo by Craig Ruttle.

Service has been a huge topic of discussion for Papa and I. The impact of those discussions has been to completely reshape and restore my concept of The Church as Christ's bride, not a religious organization. 

In the first of two previous posts, I shared the point from which I entered these conversations with Papa (Part 1). Mostly rant, wholly honest, it was from that level of awareness Papa held my hand and walked with me the path to new awareness. In the second part, I recalled a few key moments in these conversations where the proverbial lightbulb flipped on (Part 2). From these moments, I was launched into territory I'd never been. Suddenly, fresh fruit was growing from conversations with Papa I hadn't even realized we were having. 

One of those conversations revolved around leadership. Communities I was a part of were dying, and I kept thinking, It's because we have no leadership. 

One day, not long after realizing I had been granted my request for new eyes (and so have you), Papa chimed in again. What does leadership look like? After a moment of imagining leaders I choose not to follow, and those I do, he asked What do leaders do? It took me a little more time to imagine this. Do they direct discussion? Tally votes? Disperse tasks? Make decisions? Teach? Prophesy? Guide? Motivate? 

It took more time to realize that a leader does all of these things, in any way they can, in whatever way is needed. It is a leader's role to step in and fill whatever role is needed for the project, group, or community to flourish. 

Leadership is a limitless gift, by which we release the Kingdom of Heaven on earth, by which we directly reflect Papa God. It is not a gift that grants control or authority. We have control and authority over the powers of darkness, the principalities and rulers of the world. Our authority is over satan, demons, and disease, not over our fellow humans. 

Leadership, like service, is a gift directly from Father God (here's that gifts list again). I discussed in Part 2 that my new eyes (and yours) were capable of seeing areas that once appeared as lack or laziness, but were in fact opportunities to co-labor with Papa. Opportunities to step into a need, and transform it into a blessing. I thought these were servants eyes, resultant of walking in the gift of service. 

Then Papa brought me back to the conversation we'd begun about leadership. Why aren't you leading, if it's leadership that is needed? He asked. 

Leadership is not my gift. I've never been a leader. Im not a leader. As I continue to pull the log out of my eyes, I've started to understand that the more I embrace the gift of service and choose to walk in it, the more I will find myself leading. Leadership is not an identity to claim, but a gift to receive and give. What I thought were servant's eyes, were also the eyes of a leader. The two gifts go hand in hand. The gift of leadership provides a willingness to take action, the gift of service provides a willingness to take the needed action, not the action that best suits us. When a need is presented, it doesn't remain a need after a servant leader gets hold of it. 

Givers 1.2 - To Walmart, and Beyond!

Provision is hard for me to ask for. Hard for me to expect. Because I fear. Fear that I'm being greedy, or prideful, or unworthy or lazy. But I am learning to trust Papa with my needs. I'm learning the importance of receiving as well as giving. That provision isn't just about money, food, and the various physical needs I tend to focus on (though Papa wants us to trust him with these). Our spirits need communion with Papa, and with people. Need to worship, to serve, to love and share. Here's a story about provision beyond the physical.

Givers 1.3 - To Walmart, and Beyond!

Jeremiah and I don't frequent Walmart often. The whole environment kind of freaks us out, to be honest. But on this day, we bit the bullet and made a trip. We needed the cheapest possible white t-shirts to decorate, and Walmart was our last hope.

We squinted under the florescent lights and made a beeline for the men's underwear section. Our mission: packaged undershirts.

We found our bounty, hastily decided on the package that contained the most for the least, plucked one pack of each size, and made another beeline for the register.

One register was separated from a cluster of open registers and a crowd of people. Twenty or so unused registers buffered us from the commotion. Our relief was immense as we stepped into line behind the man being rung up.

The woman checking and bagging products looked to be in her 30s. Short, curly, dishwater blond hair. Nothing stood out about her, except the expression of misery on her face. I was slightly offended by her poor customer service. She didn't say a word to the man ahead of us, except to inform him of his total. She didn't smile. She hardly looked up. The man rolled his eyes slightly and left without comment.

Before I could decide how to respond to this woman's attitude, I heard Jeremiah say "Hello, how's your day going?" His words were bright and sincere. Even my frustration dissolved into an honest desire to hear her response.

"Not well." She said quiet but firm.

"I'm really sorry to hear that," Jeremiah said. "Would you like to talk about it? I'd be happy to listen."

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes welling with tears. After a deep breath she said, "My best friend died a couple days ago. I just, I loved her so much. The police are opening an investigation for murder. I'm just so heartbroken."

Jeremiah and I glanced behind us. No one was in line. "Since there's no one waiting, would you be ok with some prayer?" I asked.

"Absolutely. And it wouldn't matter if there was a line," she said. Strength was returning to her voice already.

"We would like to lay hands, if your comfortable with that," Jeremiah offered. She was, noting that she was Seventh-Day Adventist (I think this was to suggest that laying hands was familiar to her, but I don't know much about Adventists.) With a quick peak at her name tag, he confirmed her name. "It's Susan, right?" We clasped hands across the counter, and prayed for several minutes. Someone walked up and paused in our line briefly, but decided better of it and walked away quietly.

Several tears and goosebumps later, we looked up at each other with relaxed lips and blushed cheeks. Susan walked around her register hugged us both. "Thank you brother, thank you sister," she said in turn. "God always knows exactly what we need before we even ask." We hugged again, and waved each other away with blessings.

Givers 1.1 - By Needle and Ink.

I want to discuss giving. I believe the act of giving is an inherent trait of our identities in Christ. Christ is the embodiment of perfect theology, and he made giving a major component of his Earthly ministry. Love and selfishness do not go hand in hand. A selfless heart hoards nothing.

Before I can really get at my thoughts on giving, I need to share some stories about provision. Miracles in their own rights, these stories demonstrate the giving character of Papa. They should help to set the mood, energy, spirit feel, mojo, feng shui, whatever, for our giving chat.


Givers 1.1
Divine Provision by needle and ink.

Winter wanted a tattoo.

After stepping out of the workforce for several months (and thriving, I might add), she hadn't had extra pocket cash for anything more than essentials. Let alone a tattoo.

Winter, Rabbits, And Special Agent Dale Cooper.
Photo by: Winter Rain X 

"Connect me with an opportunity to get a tattoo," she asked God one day.

Shortly thereafter, she and her boyfriend Esa took their dog Cooper to the vet for vaccinations and a checkup. It was not a stress free experience. The appointment was made by Esa's mom without their foreknowledge. For fear of backlash from the doctor, they declared Cooper a German Shepherd Mix. Winter was feeling less that comfortable, and wanted little more than to bail on the entire operation.

"German Shepherd, huh?" The veterinarian raised her brows while looking over Cooper's charts. "I'm going to go check with doctor and make sure these vaccines aren't going to be harmful for her."

When Ms. Vet returned, Winter decided Cooper's health was too important for secrecy. "She's a hybrid wolf, not a german shepherd," she confessed.