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 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. 

Hearing Business

I was walking Somewhere last Tuesday morning, headed to my coffee bungalow for something warm. While I walked, I started thinking about having a conversation with Jesus about finances..

This is a tendency I'm recently becoming aware of: I imagine what I'd say if I were praying into something, rather than just saying it.

My dog, Somewhere, chilling at my coffee bungalow.

I used to do the same thing as a kid. My cousins and I would be playing "Dogs," a game in which we'd romp around on all fours and, well, pretend we were dogs. We'd bark, lick water out of bowls, the whole nine yards. But I couldn't just pretend. I had to narrate what I was pretending, so we were all on the same page. "Let's pretend I'm burying a bone here under the couch, and you have to try and steal it..." or "Pretend I'm barking to tell you there's someone sneaking into our hideout." Things like that.

Finally, my older cousin became exasperated. "You don't have to say 'pretend that...' before you pretend something. Just freakin' do it. That's how you pretend."

I thought I'd figured the concept out by now. But I keep catching myself essentially saying "pretend that you're praying about finances (or healing, or people, or nations)" instead of just freakin' doing it.

I caught myself in pretend prayer mode on this walk. I rolled my eyes and, in an effort to drive home the "just do it" lesson, I began speaking to Jesus out loud. I said things like "Jesus, my throne is yours. You are my king," trying to make sure I was fully transitioned out of pretend prayer.

As though I was with a coach watching game footage to prepare a strategy, Jesus and I reflected on my pretend prayer from a moment ago. I was stressing about money, but didn't want to be. A strategy drifted into my heart: Stop asking, start declaring. 

Still aloud, I began making declarations. Precise words, I don't recall. But things along the lines of: I worship Jesus, my King, and he alone. I do not worship money. Money is not my debtor.

One statement I do specifically remember: "Jeremiah and I will not be prevented from pursuing our purpose by money. Funds will not hinder us, will not close any doors."

I don't think I've made myself clear yet, but this post is an effort to address two topics: 1) How do I hear God's voice? 2) What is God saying about finances?

New Roads Part 2

Familiar Spirits

[For an audio version of this post, play the video at the bottom of the page.]

When I wrote Part 1, Dad had been speaking to me about "familiar spirits." I didn't realize that's what we'd been conversing about until recently. The term "familiar spirits" isn't mine, it's one I've heard used by folks who've spoken words about the concept that resonated with me. Whenever I use the term though, it feels a little foreign and religious. I don't like it, but I don't have anything better just yet.

I'm going to discuss a little of my experiences over the past couple weeks recognizing and addressing familiar spirits related to my knee. I'm not going to go into real extensive detail over the theology behind the concept because I think its been covered very well by others.

One great source for theology on the concept is The Company of Burning Hearts, a team in Wales, UK founded by Justin and Rachel Abraham. They've got a free podcast; if you haven't downloaded it I recommend it. Not because I agree with everything their speakers say, but because every time I listen, they're speaking about something ridiculously relevant in my current conversations with Dad.

The Podcast below, "Episode 30 - Familiar Spirits," is Ian Clayton speaking on June 25th 2011. I found it last week, after asking Dad for something to listen to while trying to get my knee healed. The title didn't catch my eye, because I wasn't looking to learn about familiar spirits. Something about the description engaged me, though, so I hit play.

A reference to the Lone Ranger and Tonto early in the podcast confirmed I was on the right track; it was the third unsolicited such reference I'd encountered in a day or two. If you're giving it a go, Ian gets good and poignant at about 5:50. I read American Gods by Neil Gaiman recently, and Ian hits on exactly the message I received from that book.



As I listened, I began to recognize the moods I've been experiencing since injuring my knee were very much what Ian was describing. A literal dialogue in my mind speaking lies directly aimed at my identity and relationship with Dad. Beyond that, I began to recognize that I hadn't heard that dialogue in a very long time, but I had heard it before - word for word - when I last tore my ACL. Deja vu.

While I laid hands on my knee, the image of a heavy wooden door came to mind and I spoke the words "I close the door this injury opened." I then invited Holy Spirit into my knee via a door I built just for Her. I'm still weeding out familiar spirits, but they're getting less and less frequent (at least in regards to my knee).

Seems like in the moment I first injured my knee years ago, a door was created by a brushfire of fear, fueled by Fword-inducing pain. That door has been open until now. When it was open, I'd take authority and clean house of familiar spirits, only to have more walk right in. Now, they leave and have no entrance through which to return with friends.

That's my best effort at describing this thing that's happening, at least.

This time, when I injured my knee, I was quite calm in comparison. I knew exactly what had been done. I didn't cry or curse. Immediately, my mind went to Jesus and I began releasing healing. The moment I hit the ground, I rebuked the pain. My friend Meghan sat by me and laid hands, too. What an awesome place to get healed and demonstrate Dad's presence, I thought.

I don't want to say I wasn't healed, or I'm not healed. I firmly believe, in fact, that I am healed.

The evidence remains, though, that my knee is quite swollen, often painful, and limited to a restricted range of motion.

#AriseAndBringTheHeavensDown

I have a feeling those of you who joined us to pray and hope after reading the last post might be curious how my friends' trip turned out. Here's part of the story. God was at work before they even left their house that day. Before you get to the end, I should warn you: I haven't heard the next part of the story. It is possible it may not be told here. But it was such a mischievous ending, I couldn't part with it! 

Part 2: Hope and Healing

Winter glanced around her, over either shoulder; the gate she'd been waiting at was deserted. She was the only one here. Immediately, she stood and found the flight directory. Her gate had been changed. She ran, got in line, and breathlessly gave the stewardess her pass. Most of the plane had boarded already, her number had been called long ago. 

LAX Internation Airport

She took her seat, relieved to have made it in time. "We're running late folks," the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "We'll take off as soon as your seated and have you at LAX as close to on schedule as possible." 

That's awesome, Winter thought. Esa's plane was probably already there, he'd be waiting. 

Five minutes later, the pilot's voice projected overhead again. This time, his tone flat and hardly masking frustration. "I apologize for the delay, folks. Looks like we have to de-ice."

The woman next to winter began to rant about being on a tight schedule and needing to be at her destination on time. Winter turned to face her. "Have you ever known you were supposed to be somewhere, known that incalculable good would come of it, and that something was trying to stop you?" 

"Sure, I guess."

"I am on my way to an event that I had a vision of two years ago. Two months ago, I finally got an address. Today I have no money, no phone, no clothes, but I've got this plane ticket there. And I believe that has something to do with why we have to sit here and de-ice in Oakland in April. Are you a woman of faith?"

"No."

"Well, I'm going to this event for a miracle. Will you hope for something with me at 8 p.m. tonight?"

"Like what?"

"Anything you want."

"You want to hope for something?" Suddenly the woman came to life. "Hope for water. I'm from Colorado and we don't have any water. Our farmers can't even water their crops enough to get through this harvest. They have no idea what to do. 

"And while we're at it, North Korea! Someone needs to get that man from North Korea in a room and have a good talk with him." Suddenly the woman's demeanor switched. No longer lively, she became cold. Winter smiled, passed her some peanuts, and they didn't speak again the duration of the flight. 

#AriseAndBringTheHeavensDown

I've got two friends headed to Southern California this week. They've got a vision and a mission, and God is doing some crazy stuff. He's also given us a crazy idea.

We've had some very intense prayers sessions this week. Dad has been revealing his love in ways we've yet to encounter - a refreshing reminder that our God is so much bigger than our imaginations. Two sharable pieces of prophecy spoke directly to my friends about the trip they're heading on.

First, a prophetic word I found on Facebook; a dream by a guy named James Goll.  Since it related to SoCal, I shared it with my friends and they've been telling everyone about it ever since.

Then, we watched Father of Lights. And not only the prophetic word above, but every conversation we've had over the past two years, was confirmed. Often, word for word parallels were drawn, which you can see for yourself if you check out the dream above and the trailer below.

On Thursday, April 4 at 8 p.m., their mission commences. Here's the idea Dad gave us: At 8, pick one thing to ask Dad for. And go for it.

Psalm 37:4 says "delight in the Lord and he will give you the desire of your heart." So, God is good. Isn't that worth delighting in? You have needs, aching heart desires. Aren't they worth asking for?

Maybe your Aunt has Multiple Sclerosis, your bills are behind, or you don't have any food for dinner. Maybe you want to feel God or find your favorite discontinued candy bar.

Whatever it is, at or after 8 p.m. on April 4th, lift up your heart and ask Dad. And share the idea with as many people as you feel willing!

Post your request, be it a single word or a whole paragraph of words, here so we can join with you. Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life (Prov 13:12).

(note: you are more than welcome to ask Dad for your hearts desire whenever you want. We are asking you to join us in unity, as a sort of prayer cover, for the event my friends are headed to. Thanks for joining!)