Hints of Failure Part 3

Two posts by Praying Medic convinced me to write Hints of Failure: Bell Rock - Revisited   and Bell Rock - Healing at the Circle K. 

I read these posts while sitting at Barnes & Noble trying to write something for The Daily Heretic that didn't have anything to do with the stories in this series. In Revisited, Praying Medic wrote: 

"As soon as I began speaking, I sensed a strong presence of God's glory being released. I saw a think cover of dark clouds in the spirit that were pierced by a shaft of light. An opening appeared in the clouds that gave way to a small hole of blue sky overhead..." 

This was the first parallel with my own story that caught my attention. In Healing at Circle K, he wrote: ..."I explained all this to the lady behind the counter and we started talking about chronic pain. Like the pain she has in her knee. (Cue spooky music)."

When I read this, I said "Woah! Oh my God!" rather louder than people sitting alone with headphones should speak in public. 

Before I had a chance to glance around embarrassedly to see if anyone noticed, Dad took me back to a dream. I was walking out on my coach and team. Flipping the lights off behind me. But my Dad wasn't following like I'd expected. You will experience the urge to abandon something I'm not ready to move on from. There's something of value here...

The Hints of Failure series is being written because I read Praying Medic's stories; they broke down walls that were preventing me from listening to God. I'm not sure where the stories are going - I've not seen their ends yet. But maybe they'll break down some more walls, and we'll walk away more intimate with our Father. 

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Part 3: The Knees

My sister, Brittany, is a sophomore at Spokane Falls Community College (SFCC) and plays libero for their volleyball team. 

She’s really freakin’ good. 

Named regional defensive player of the week three times this season, and voted first team all conference libero and, she helped lead her team to the North West Athletic Association of Community Colleges (NWAACCs) tournament. (*This just in: She was voted MVP and broke her school's record for digs in a season. Bad ass!)

The top four teams from each region met in Gresham, OR, November 21 to 24, to vie for the coveted NWAACC championship title. On the last day of the tournament, players from across the region named 1st or 2nd team all conference joined to play the “All Star” exhibition game. 

Brittany and our Dad at NWAACCs

Brittany’s team played their last game of the season about a week before NWAACCs in Walla Walla on November 13. I stayed near my phone, expecting text updates on how the team was doing. Her team handily beat Walla Walla the first game of the match, and Brittany was playing great.


The second update read simply “Brittany hurt her knee.”

Immediately, I remembered her senior year of high school, when she tore her left ACL and meniscus mid-way through the season. “Was it her ACL? Which knee? Is she OK?” 

“Not sure,” the text replied. 

As with my friend Kendal in Part 1, I was stuck. I had no way of reaching Brittany and laying hands. So, with one successful spirit travel under my belt, I sat on my bed cross legged once again and asked Dad to take me to her. Again, the craving hit and I knew to put my hands on my right knee.

A few days later, an MRI confirmed Brittany’s ACL (her right one) was torn.

Hints of Failure Part 2

Part 2: The Dreams 

Halloween was a day of breakthrough. November has been a month riding that breakthrough's wave. These dreams have been teaching and influencing me throughout the ride; I've been reminded and re-taught about them daily.

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Dream 1

I was part of a group of ragged looking friends, walking through an abandoned city not unlike Olympia. We walked to the edge of the city and beyond, to an empty field surrounded by a sagging, dilapidated fence. We climbed the fence, and I noticed a single wire strung across the top. I explained to the others in my group that in days past, a painful force called electricity flowed through this wire, preventing animals from climbing over by shocking them.

When we crossed over the fence, the world changed. From outside the fence, an empty field. From inside, the same field. Empty, but for a single gnarled peach tree overladen with ripe fruit. We walked cautiously across the field toward the tree. The weight of the peaches bowed the tree’s branches toward the earth. The fruit was beautiful; oranges and pinks intensified against the stark, drab landscape and dull sky. 

I want to eat one of those peaches. The thought struck me before I had a chance to question it. Suddenly, I knew only one thing about myself and the world around me. I knew I was going to eat a peach. 

My group stopped to stare at the tree with me. As though we shared the same sudden onslaught of knowledge, we lurched toward the tree together. While the others made for the tree itself and climbed into its branches in pursuit of their treasure, I found a branch so heavy with fruit it had cracked and looked close to breaking. I gave it a tug, and it came crashing down. 

The peaches, which had looked so perfect from just a short distance away, were mostly all over-ripe and decaying. A sharp smell hung heavy in the air - fermenting fruit piled at the base of the tree. 

I was alone now. Just me and my peaches. I scanned my peach cornucopia for an unblemished fruit. There were dozens and dozens more to choose from; I felt sure the odds were in my favor. The moment my eyes locked onto a pristine peach larger than my two fists combined, I heard footsteps behind me. 

I turned around disappointed, expecting to see one of the friends I’d come with. I wanted this peach to myself. Desperately, I didn’t want to share it. 

Photo from Scientific American

Instead of my friend, I found myself face to face with a rhinoceros. “Give me your lunch money, kid” he seemed to say, large black eyes and menacing horn only inches from my face. I could feel the rhino’s breath mussing up my hair, stinging my eyes. 

Frozen, I knew I had only one chance to respond without getting trampled. The rhino stamped his foot, losing patience. Before I decided what to do, I found myself bowing slightly and opening my arms toward the fallen branch. Where I’d felt only selfish desire to consume peaches moments before, I now felt the warmth of gracious welcoming. 

“Please, eat all you like. There is plenty,” I told the rhino. He exhaled, nodded his head, and stepped forward. I remained still until he rifled through the leaves and took his first bite. Unbiased, the rhino ate the peaches whether rotting or damaged. I plucked up the prized, perfect peach I found before and bit in. Juice sloshed down my chin and arms; relief and calm washed over me. Not only was the rhino not going to kill me, something told me he’d protect me from here on out.


**edit: It was brought to my attention I had this dream Oct 29, and shared it the 30th, on a Facebook page called Dream & Vision Interpretation. I had totally forgotten. If you can, check the page out. It's great. Here's what I shared there (I'd also forgotten about the first part of the dream!):

I had a dream... long story short, two images stuck I'd like to throw at you for some feedback:

1) A weather map on TV of the Pacific North West, being described by the weather lady. The map was covered in white swirling storm systems. Solid white, unmoving portions of the map indicated avalanche warnings. Areas with high likelihood of the most severe avalanche were shaded deep blue. Those areas included Olympia, up through Tacoma, and over to Leavenworth. 

2) In a group of four or five people my age, exploring an abandoned city. We hopped a fence and found a peach tree. Large, very ripe peaches, though many were bruised and we couldn't eat them. Just as I though, what could go wrong, a huge rhinoceros walks up to me. I felt like he was threatening to steal my lunch money or beat me up. So I said, have all the peaches you want, and that seemed to please him. We all ate together. 

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Dream 2 

I found myself a member of my sister Brittany’s volleyball team. We sat gathered on couches in the team room, facing my sister’s coach. In a corner behind Coach, my dad stood watching silently. 

“This is not a democracy,” I heard Coach saying. “My decision aren’t up for debate. If you have a problem with that, there’s the door.”

I had a problem with that. For a few seconds I hesitated, hoping I wasn’t alone. But no one else moved or spoke. I stood and looked my coach in the eye, hoping she’d try and stop me. When she didn’t I walked out, turning the lights off behind me. 

A few paces out the door, I paused. I’d expected my dad to follow me. I turned around, waited. When it was clear he wasn’t coming, I knew I had to go back. I returned and noticed the lights were on. My dad was still in the corner, arms crossed, silent. There is something here worth witnessing, I heard.
 Before sitting, I apologized to my team and coach, trying to explain why I felt strongly enough to leave. “I can’t be part of this. It’s not right...” They listened politely, nodded with understanding, and said nothing to refute or encourage me. Deflated, I sat down, resolved to remain with my team despite the irrefutable objections that compelled me to leave. 

As Coach resumed her speech, I looked up to my dad in the corner behind her. 

Simultaneously, my alarm went off and woke me up. When I woke, two statements rang in my mind: 1) You’re a light in dark places; retracting light isn’t your assignment. 2) You will experience the urge to abandon something I’m not ready to move on from.

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I'll be interpreting the dreams as the series continues. Until then, feel free to use them for your own dream interpretation practice if you like! As always, thoughts, comments, and dream interpretations are welcome.

Hints of Failure Part 1

I’ve been holding back a series of stories from this blog. The response to my last post, Divine Dice, has influenced this reluctance. I’m not proud of this, but it’s true. If you’re reading this post, you are one of not very many. The majority of my posts acquire about 60 views. Two of my most read posts maxed out around 400 views. Divine Dice is at 1020 and counting. 

In part, the conversations surrounding Divine Dice directly questioned my salvation. "She's deceived and deceiving," many cried. At first, the series of failures I've yet to share left me feeling particularly vulnerable - not a feeling I'm familiar with. Part of me didn't want to share anything to validate those who sought to undermine the validity of my life. 

In response to the religious minded who wanted to correct me, people I know and look up to spoke solidarity and life over me. My fear of vulnerability was a flimsy one, and soon I found it couldn't hold up to the sheer force of identity confirming love Dad made sure was heaped upon me from every angle of my life. From friends to teachers to strangers, the encouragement was almost overwhelming. 

One day, after visiting my friend at our mall's M.A.C. counter and walking away sporting new red lipstick, a passing stranger stared until I'd nearly walked past. "Wow! You are so sexy!" She gasped. 

I'm telling you, there was no area of my life and identity flaming arrows of encouragement didn't pierce. 

I write when God speaks. That isn’t to say you should believe everything I write. Or that every word I write was spoken by God. But I’ve found that writing of my own accord is tedious and draining. When I simply write in response to what Dad and I are talking about, the experience is life-giving and invigorating. I’ve started several posts only to find my mind immediately drained of thought and the act of typing like shoving bamboo shoots up my nails. Thus, I’ve only typed a few paragraphs before stopping. 

The stories I’ve been evading pick up right where Divine Dice left off: Halloween. After each experience, I thought to myself - definitely won't be writing that one up on the blog. I've had some time to reflect and distance myself from the stings of failure (at least, what felt like failure). Dad made sure my fear of vulnerability was taken care of, and gave me a desire to write. He isn't done talking about these failures of mine. So, if I want to write, I'll have to write about them. I needed the failures in order to recognize and receive the successes and revelations I'm seeing today. Likewise, anyone reading The Daily Heretic is going to need the same full picture.

This is no quick bandaid removal. Once I started writing, it was immediately clear this is going to take too many words for one post. Stick with me, and by the end of this series, we'll be... 

Somewhere.

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Part 1: The Leg

Post surgery x-ray. November 27. Photo by: Jen

After work on Halloween, I joined my husband Jeremiah and friend Claire to visit our friends Kendal and Jen. About two weeks before Halloween, Kendal broke his leg. Having a broken leg can be terribly boring and depressing; we hoped the company of friends in costume might help alleviate the monotony. 

Jen’s small living room had one couch, taken over by Kendal and his casted leg. The rest of us gathered around on chairs and the floor, chatting and laughing into the late evening. We enjoyed beer carried in from our favorite pub, and several varieties of chocolate and things covered in chocolate. It was in the midst of this merry, jovial room that I laid hands on Kendal for the third time since the break. 

The first time, I laid hands in the Spirit. Kendal texted me from the hospital, and I was stuck home without a car. I was frantic and frustrated, itching to lay hands but stuck twiddling my thumbs. I began to pray, and Dad reminded me of a post Praying Medic shared on Facebook, along with all the podcasts I’ve listened to Ian Clayton talk about spirit travel. Suddenly, I realized this was an opportunity for experience, and my frustration shifted into determination. 

I sat on my bed cross legged, closed my eyes, and asked Dad to take me to Kendal. It didn’t seem like anything happened, but I decided to lay hands on my own leg and believe it was Kendal’s. I checked the text again. “Hey sis, I broke my leg. At the hospital. Thought you’d want to know.” Surely enough, the text gave me no information about where the leg was broken or where to put my hands. So I closed my eyes again, asked Dad to take me to Kendal and show me where to lay my hands. 

Still, I seemed to be sitting on my bed nowhere near Kendal. But I felt a deep, intensifying longing lay my hands on my right leg. I put one hand just below my knee, the other a few inches above my ankle. After a few minutes of praying in tongues, I paused. “Is this right, Dad?” I tried moving my hands to my left leg, but swiftly felt as though I’d eaten over cooked spinach. I spit it out and moved back to my right leg with visceral relief. 

After a few moments, I wanted to touch my ankle, too. Perhaps craved would be more accurate than wanted. The craving started in my diaphragm and filled me until my fingers were twitchy and I couldn’t ignore it. Much the way I imagine an addict feels when craving cigarettes or coffee. I moved a hand to my ankle, and the craving was again relieved. 

Divine Dice

It's NaNoWriMo! That means significantly fewer blog posts this month for me. And slightly out of date posts as well. This one's about Halloween. I know, been there done that. But the story has little to do with the holiday, and is only getting more relevant as I ruminate on it. 

As a rule (I use the term loosely), I like to take anything people in my realm of influence have deemed secular, demonic, anti-christian, or any other label that's supposed to suggest I steer clear, and advance the Kingdom with it. 

Recently, my husband and I started playing a game called Magic: The Gathering. We particularly like to play at our favorite pub because inevitably, other Magic players light up at the sight of their favorite game being played in public. This a game for nerds and dweebs. People have been scorned and ridiculed throughout child and adulthood for playing this game. And it has a particularly unsavory reputation in the Christian clubs. Most players don't like to broadcast themselves outside their safe zones. We love drawing people out of hiding, engaging with them and watching their eyes light up because we are as weird as they are. And we're not afraid to show it. 

Harry Potter taught me about being a friend and the gift of service. Game of Thrones is teaching me about ruling (or about how not to rule) as a Queen in Heaven. I do Yoga, because I hear Dad speak more clearly when my body, mind, and breath are synchronized. Any time, any where, give me something the Church clubs have rebuked and I will find Jesus all over it. Because I can. Because He's all the time everywhere. Because I take joy in people and the things people find joy in. 

"...Dad told me I'd be drawing people into their identities.
Specifically, I'd be naming people "Healer..."'

OK so, Halloween. Obviously, I had to find Jesus in Halloween. So I dressed up as Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter to work my shift at the coffee bungalow. Once I got there, I set up two dice and a little sign offering "prophecies." Then, I let Dad speak. 

This is the second year I've dressed as a fortune teller for Halloween and given prophetic words. Dad seems to love speaking to people this way. Last year, we threw a party at our house. Some friends tended bar, and twenty or so other friends dressed fancy and enjoyed themselves. I set up a hookah and a tea pot in the lounge, and offered tea leaf readings. Then I got to prophecy identity over people.

I have never prophesied so much, so accurately, and been so eagerly received at any given time. Last year, there seemed to be a theme. Whether people saw ducks or unicorns, when I Googled the symbol meanings, Dad was talking about leadership, decision making, and transition.

This year, there was a theme as well. I asked anyone interested to roll the dice. I wrote down a list of numbers, 1 to 12, and meanings associated with them (see bottom of post for list). I told them the meanings of each dice individually, then combined the dice for a third number and meaning. Then, I let Dad weave the three numbers together for a prophetic word. 

Before we started, Dad told me I'd be drawing people into their identities. Specifically, I'd be naming people "Healer." Right off the bat, my first two customers rolled the dice. A couple, they both rolled a 1 and 6.

"One means unity and beginnings," I explained, not so slyly reading my number list. "Six is the number for weakness. Together, they're seven, which means resurrection and spiritual completeness." 

"Ok, that's kind of neat," the woman replied. Clearly, none of us saw much significance in the dice so far. 

"Let me focus on your drinks for a moment, and I'll have your prophecy ready." While making her mocha and his Americano, taking the next customer's order, preparing milks and cups as more people walked in, I asked Dad what he wanted this woman to hear.