The Meeting Room PART 3

It was better than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. I don’t know How else to describe it. And nothing. NO thing, no being, no other entity, NO nothing can touch what happened to me.

As I fell involuntarily to the Floor I worshiped Him in the feelings of my heart and with the words that came from my heart instead of the opposite way around as was the usual case. I could still hear the song for Him playing in the background. I agreed to its lyrics…“Yes, You ARE the one true God, You are sooooo Holy. Thank you so much for this. Nooo other God…! You are the one true God….!” I said all this to Him with my thoughts because I could no longer speak. I was unable to move my body!

And then, suddenly, I felt Him loving me. I mean, I’d felt Him Loving me the instant the hand touched the back of my head. But this was different. I suddenly felt Him loving me very deeply, very intimately. It was as if God was making love to me, but not in a sexual way. It was an incredibly heightened intimacy of the soul. I felt myself slipping deeper and deeper into a secret place where it was just Him and I. Things seemed to darken until I was in the deepest darkness. But as the darkness moved towards me (literally) a big, soft light unlike the light of the sun or any artificial light I’ve ever seen penetrated it. Then suddenly, I could not hear! The voices of the others around me became muted. And that’s when I heard it, felt it.

“I love you so much” He said. His voice was very quiet. Inaudible it seemed. It was as if He spoke to me through some means other than my ears. Like maybe He’d reorganized my body structure or something and said “Okay. NOW you will hear instead through your feet.” But there’s no mistaking it. I Heard Him tell me He loves me.

And it was the most awesome thing that ever happened to me.

I mean, I didn’t expect that I’d ever be able to allow Him to fill me that day. I really didn’t. And that was awesome in itself. But I didn’t know He would speak to me too. That was the icing on the cake!

As I lay there, I felt myself smiling inside. The funny thing is—like I said—I could not move. But I knew that if anyone just happened to glance at my face they’d know I was experiencing a piece of heaven.

Not long after He told me He loved me, I could hear again and I began to feel that I was able to move. But oh, was I drained! And my eyes didn’t seem to want to open. Slowly I propped my chin on my forearm and opened my mouth weakly to speak. “Thank you so much God” I said. “I didn’t know you were sooo real. I didn’t know. Never. Never can I doubt your existence or your Power again.” But I soon could no longer hold my head up and laid it on the cool, hard floor again, eyes still closed. And that’s when the light returned! But it was brighter than before! Much brighter. It got closer and closer and I yearned to hear God tell me He loved me again. But He didn’t and the light faded away. “Wait! Comeback!” I said to Him with my thoughts. “Tell me you love me again…Please.”

And it did! The light returned! But as quickly as it came it faded back again and my eyes opened as if a hand that could not be felt but whose existence was known had opened them. It was as if my eyelids were remote controlled. Simultaneously, one of the women helping out at the retreat came to help me up. “It’s almost time for the last meeting before the bus ride home” she said in semi-broken English. “Oh okay” I said, standing up and feeling suddenly full of energy. I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt light. I felt giddy. I walked with a bounce and with ease back to my room as if cloud hopping, unaffected by the pull of gravity.

“You certainly are amazing God” I thought. Then suddenly I realized that it was He who had opened my eyes! I was amazed at how perfectly He’d timed things so that right when I was told it was time to go I was also regaining complete consciousness. Our last meeting was going to start in the next few minutes and He wanted me to be around for it!

On the bus ride home I heard one of the members from my church playing audibly, but very softly, the song me and some of the others had just been worshiping to in the meeting room. “Holyyy, holyyy…” the song was saying again. Whoever it was kept playing it over and over. It had been playing for nearly 20 minutes! I looked to see who it was. It must be my prayer leader, I thought. I looked ahead to the seat in front of me. But it wasn’t her. Her iPhone wasn’t even out and she was fast asleep. I looked behind me to her brother who had headphones in his ears. Maybe he was listening to the song loud enough for it to come through his headphones. But it wasn’t him either!!! I looked over to one of the other prayer leaders who was also our driver. Was it him?? The music hadn’t seemed to be coming from the radio/cd player, but maybe that was it!

It wasn’t.

I looked around the small, 18 seater bus once more, examining each individual. Absolutely NO ONE was playing that song! It was then that I realized the song was playing just for me. I didn’t tell anybody what was happening to me. It was just for me and God to experience. We were finishing what we began in the meeting room.

Later that night, as I drifted off to sleep I was aware of His presence still. I could not feel myself. My body was light as if my substance were made of air itself. I felt the continual pins-and-needles buzz of happiness and peace flowing from my head to my feet. In the background was still playing that song of ours. “Holyyyy, holyyyy…”

Yes, God, I thought. You certainly are.

 *This was my experience at The Encounter, a weekend retreat experience that has forever changed the course of my life with God. Every word is true. Every experience can be yours. For more information on how you can participate to have an encounter with God like never before please email me at marsh_leah@yahoo.com with the subject line as "Encounter with God."

The power of God is amazing. When we experience it, it makes him more Real to us. It makes us BELIEVE more. Our faith Increases. Think about it...

 And this is why my life will never be the same again. Now, I can't convince you of any of this.  You must experience for yourself. It is up to you to take the climb to see exactly what I mean. Email me about The Encounter.

 Some things you can do if you want to read more true stories of God's power in my life to influence your own (but I pray that you will come to experience him in this way for yourself!):

-Add me as a friend on Facebook. 

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=504809058&ref=profile

(Subscribe to my notes after you add me as a friend on Facebook--or you can simply come back here! But usually I publish first to Facebook.)

 *If you need prayer, it doesn't matter if you don't know me. I'll do it. Send your prayer request to my yahoo or Facebook inbox.

 Above all, remember this....

 God loves you. Dearly. And you're reading this because he's calling you. Come.

The Meeting Room PART 1

I always Knew it was real, that some people faked it, that some didn't. But that's all I ever had to go by. What I Knew in my heart. And while I still can only say that I know in my heart there are people who fake it, I now have the pleasure of being one of the one's that didn't. And I now Know it to be real.

For the past 14 days I have replayed over and over and Over the experience I waited so long for that finally did happen. But no matter what I do I can't seem to remake into reality this dream of mine that came true. It is surreal. It is mind-blowing. And what I felt, no matter how much I re-imagine it, cannot be properly reintroduced to me or anyone else by my futile words and visual memory. But the Effort is worth it. And so that's why I'm here. To Share.

"We're in the meeting room, does anyone want to come?" She'd just walked into our bunked-bed room, our living quarters for the past 2 and a half days. There were at least 8 of the bunk-beds within its painfully cramped rectangular shaped walls. However, a few of the other girls still managed to take advantage of the narrow space between the two parallel sections of beds stacked and lined on either wall of the rectangular room. They were standing, chatting. "No, it's okay" I heard one of them say. The rest of them conceded. I don't remember that any one of them actually asked what was going on in the meeting room.

But maybe I missed that.

I, myself, was standing at the sink preparing to refresh my tired skin and mouth. I had been pondering if it was worth my time to shower, as I was feeling quite lazy and wanted to rest up a bit before we hit the road again back to Atlanta. We had just come from the meeting room, then on to a tasty Brazilian dinner in the dining room less than 45 minutes ago it seemed. And I was tired out from my efforts to make happen what I just couldn't seem to do. But not for one second did I stop thinking about what I Could have accomplished there. Not for one second was I ready to have left the meeting room. And if I couldn't experience for myself what many of the others were, I was absolutely content to simply watch and be happy for those who did, amazed by the surreal nature of it all.

"So what are you guys doing in there?" I asked, toothbrush in hand. I immediately conceded to meet up with her and the others in the meeting room once she told me.

But she didn't have to.

I’d already noticed when she first walked into the room how her incredibly fair skin had developed the slightest tint of tan orange. I’d seen how her face was flushed. I’d seen how her long, waist length hair was unraveled and sprawling, in need of being reordered into the single hair tie for which the rest of her hair desperately struggled to stay inside. I’d seen the excitement in her eyes, heard it in the way she’d opened the door, noticed it in the way she’d come into the room unable to stand still, caught it for myself in the way her body involuntarily trembled every few seconds, in the way her speech was hard to come out, in the way she inadvertently made the “S” sound as if shivering from the cold.

It is what always happened whenever she got This Way. I’d seen it many times.

But I must admit, although I wanted to be a part of what was going on in the meeting room, I was horribly scared. What If I couldn’t perform???

(to be continued...part 2)

out of thin air.

before 10 minutes ago i was dead broke.

$0 was in my account as far as I knew.  but low and behold, there is a God...

who just so happened to put 25 dollars into my dry account.

now how about that.  the bank itself saw fit to place 25 dollars into MY account. me. out of all the other people out there this could have happened to, it happened to me.

i'm telling you, dear readers, having faith in the unseen really does pay off.

into thin air i casted my faith. out of thin air God produced.

MAYBE THE AIR WASN'T SO THIN AFTER ALL.

have a glorious day. 

The Villain in me or the Lack There-of and Love-UNEDITED

I can't honestly say I'll never talk to him again. I can only say untruthfully that I won't. Because, you see, out of all the villainy lurking within me that seldom shows--except for in times like this--the greatest of it is in opposition to myself.

I wish I could be a villain in the way The Villain was one to me. I wish I could make him hurt and not even care that I did (this blog will mostlikely be the extent of my revenge). I'd lure him into my lair with an irresistable force so powerful that even you, dear reader, would not dare to read my words in description of it for fear of your own intoxicated plight. And at the height of The Villain's oblivion via my irresistable weapon of allure, at the height of his deepest intrigue with me, I'd de-magnitize "our aura" faster than what encompasses the rules of gravity. I WISH I could do all this, but the Heart of me can't. My Heart is a flow that won't stop loving. And THAT is the greatest of the villainies within me.

When I was a child, I was angry. I could hate. And I could do it genuinely. I will not elaborate much because if I did, you'd instinctively tense up tighter than King Kong in a size 12 girdle from the chilling reality of it all, and I care too much about my readers to allow you to undergo the affliction of restricted blood flow, teeth-chipping chattering teeth and clenched fists that leave nail-imprinted palms. Besides, this metaphor's getting kind of scary. King Kong probably would bust out of that size twelve, know what I mean? But, ahmm, as I was saying, when I was a child I was angry. About alot of things. And I spent a great deal of time cultivating Hate so that I could do it better and better each time. I wanted so bad to feel so much evil inside so that I could become numb to hurting people. But then, one day the most eventful, life changing things happened. One, I saw one whom I'd oppressed act as an oppressor to a lesser. And Two, I actually BECAME the oppressed by my formerly oppressed.

(perhaps I'll elaborate on these for you one day. but for now...)

Actually seeing my hate in action by another, and in the same EXACT manner as I'd use it is what First woke me up. It was literally like watching a secretly recorded video of myself doing an action I'd deny with sincerity had I not seen it with my own eyes! I knew I was hateful, but not THAT hateful. I'd have never given myself that great of credit. And seeing my hate in action taught me that I wasn't as hateful as I tried to indicate I was. After feeling a sadness of regret for the one I saw oppressed, I realized, somewhere deep within that I wasn't a monster afterall. I discovered that I could love.

For the time when I BECAME the oppressed, I can honestly say I WAS. SCARED. TO. DEATH. You see, this occurrance happened AFTER I witnessed the above mentioned, upon which I began to immediately willingly defragment the hard shell surrounding my heart. By then, even though, I still had a bit of a temper, I'd learned that love was stronger than anger. Love had pushed aside my quest of hatefulness like the flick of a switch that turns on the light in a dark and empty room. Now that the light was shining brightly amidst the unfilled room of my heart, the room could finally be filled with lovely things. See, my perspective had changed and so had my heart. So I couldn't be angry in retalliation to the extent I used to in the past, not even if my oppressor had showered hate on me with the ferocity of 50 strategically thrown daggers at it's enemy target. Witnessing my oppressor's extreme lack of self-control was empowering to me--simply because it made me feel like crap. Finally, I'd felt the way I made others feel. And it was awful. Just awful.

And all this, dear readers, is why my heart is a flow that won't stop loving. This is why the greatest of my villianies is towards myself.

If The Villian ever calls me again, or emails, or texts, I don't know if I can ignore him as others would, as he IS quite deserving of this minor act of revenge. And it's not because I'm in love with him that I most-likely won't ignore him. I stopped loving him the Summer of 2006 when I finally woke up and realized I could do much better for a mate. And it's not even because I want to keep him as my friend. I woke up and realized I could do much better for a friend the moment he'd villianized me for the Christmas Holidays, the same as he'd done just previously during Thanksgiving of which I was very forgiving. In fact, I believe it's safe to say The Villain is not even worthy to be my AQUAINTANCE, or perhaps we'll lessen him to that of a passersby, even more deservingly reasonable of course. I can honestly say I don't know if I can ignore him, for the simple existance of etiquette. Etiquette. Ah, in learning to love I've learned to love past subjectivity, past affliction from others. Hence, I'm very forgiving--and also very easily taken advantage of. Seemingly. But please, dear reader, don't test me. Grrrrrr. Taking advantage of me requires the subtlety of Snow's gentle landing and Water's forming and breaking of bonds, ambiguous to the naked eye. I'm quite the intrinsic when it comes to accurately percieving!

Yah. So, back to The yucky Villian.

He's not worth a 15th of a cent, if such a thing even exist as tangible, which I'm sure it doesn't. Why would it? A 15th of a cent is Worthless.

He's not worth the dung hanging half-endedly from the butt of a barren cow in a field of undernourished grass from which the cow eats and will soon die.

He wouldn't be worth it even, if he were a piece of meat and the last of it on earth, amongst millions of hungry faces and hands craddling empty bellies that roar with the same growlings as Lions. Not one hungry soul would dare to feast on The Villain for fear of taking on the worthless likeness of him.

But strangely, The Villain IS worth loving. Why? Because if he's not worth loving, then he's worth a relapse into the snare of anger waiting to consume me as it once did so long ago. And he's not worth that. He's not worth my disempowerment. Love is always stronger than hate, stronger than any negative force around. And I choose it as my weapon. Afterall, didn't you know? God=Love! And I want Him on my side. Not anything else...

Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I've got a few pictures to delete from my laptop, a few letters to dispose of, a couple of numbers to delete, cards to--oh, you know!

I love hard. But I'm nobody's fool but God's.

Peace. And please do have a magnificant day.

the Nanny Blues

I'm at work (it's only one pm) and already desiring to leave. Well, no, its not that I dislike my job or anything. Although, if I could have my way with the dealings of my life I'd definitely call it a quits on this nanny thing and surrender willingly to a rather pleasurable toxicity of mine I like to call Procrastination (Yeah, that was an incredibly long sentence. I know it. But get used to it because you're going to find I make quite a habit of the skill. I mean, I haven't any other way to take your breath away, no other way to wow you. I'm not that great of a writer. So I might as well make you take a couple more breaths extra than you would normally in a standard sentence to achieve the feat. And my, you'll come to find, I'm sure, that you can suddenly run that ten minute monster of a mile you could never even think on before because of the anticipated horror of it. I'm sure of it.).   

It's not that I hate my job. I get to play mommy four days a week and its beautiful. And we all know what a mommy is: a disciplinarian, teacher, doctor, counselor, nurturer and best-friend all rolled into one. Did I forget anything? At least that's what I feel mommies should be. For eight hours each work day--and sometimes more--I'm privileged the luxury of changing poopey diapers, wiping runny noses, inventing the most grueling time outs, soothing boo-boo's, meticulously cutting the ends off peanut butter sandwiches, reading the same story 5 times in a row, trading home-made Yo Mama jokes and converting into a seemingly indestructible human-sized play toy. And that's only the fourth of it! Now, why wouldn't I enjoy a job like this that attains the miracle of coagulating so many facets into one big rewarding ooey gooey??! It's great. I like the challenge. I like having to schedule, I like organizing, I like putting up PJ's and underpants, telling Bible stories, and getting splashed on at bath time. It’s because of this job that I know I'll make a great mom someday. But you know, I guess today just isn't MY DAY. Come to think of it, neither was yesterday.

And it's all because of the BIG P.

I feel like some pregnant woman's labor pains have been reincarnated through me. That's how badly I hurt. Women, I know some of you understand the depth I'm talking about here. Guys. Imagine a 6lb. bowling ball in the pit of your abdomen with an attraction for a rendezvous with your crotch. Imagine feeling suddenly and irreversibly qualmish with nausea, when only a millisecond before you were giddy inside from plans to feed ducks with the kids at a peaceful park off 10th street. Imagine ten years worth of experience in learning patience brought down to a miniscule penny's worth!

And so...

I feel like going home to a hot shower and then crawling into bed underneath a warming blanket after devouring a hot bowl of yummy homemade chicken noodle soup. I feel like drinking 3 cups of hot Echinacea tea. I feel like giving in to Midol. But the reality of my life says I'm way too tired to take a shower, that I'd just hop into bed right away anyway. That I don't even own a warming blanket. That I don't know how to make homemade chicken noodle soup, that if I did it certainly wouldn't be yummy--it being my first attempt and all. That three cups of tea is way too much caffeine. And that I promised myself last night I'd never take any type of medicine again, drug store or prescribed, because doctors don't know shat and researchers know it but don't give a fluck. But the most important reality is that I can't leave work to go home anyway. I need the money.

And I don't just feel bad for me, I feel bad for the kids. My patience is down to 1 cent so they don't have my heart today. They don't have my heart today, which means they won't give me theirs. And because they won't give me theirs, I'll probably become even more impatient. You see, if there's just one thing I could say I've learned from this whole "Mommy" thing, its that Perspective Matters Most. I used to use intimidation to get grade A performance out of the kids. I'd squint my eyes, harden my jaw--make the muscles in it pop a little, lower my voice to a demanding whisper, and tense my body tighter than an amateur up against Oscar de la Hoya on fight night. And then *Lynn happened, born March 15th 2006--the fourth child of the family I work for. My threats don't scare HER. My threats prompt defiance. My threats fuel side smiles of mischief, stubborn pouty lips, and uncooperative diaper changing sessions. My threats are just, well, threats to her. And so I quickly determined that if I was going to survive opposite of not allowing her the luxury of life past age two, I'd better get creative. Thus, I developed the Talk. Whenever *Lynn acted up I'd simply talk to her, explain to her why she was wrong and how it made me feel. It worked SOME. I needed something MORE. I then developed the Tap. When *Lynn acted up I'd pretend that I was going to go down hard on her little hand only to end up doing an over-exaggerated tap. I don't like popping much and neither did her parents at that time. It worked SOME. Of course, I needed something MORE. And so, then came the Time-out-chair. After bad behavior, I'd say to her firmly "You're going to time out because (fill in the blank)," buckle her in, place her in a corner and then leave her there until the tears started flowing. If you've been following my path, you get the drift. It worked SOME. That's when I decided to utilize the 3T's as a team instead of using them randomly and individually as I had before. The Talk became her warning bell, the Tap--her "You're getting warmer missy, better straighten up," and the Time-out-chair her "last straw." But *Lynn's one tough piece of meat. I can honestly say I wanted to quit my job at one point. She made me feel powerless and because I grew up a kid easily intimidated I've always been conscious of remaining in control.

Now it just so happened around this time that I came to the conclusion for like the umpteenth time over the course of my 24 years that I. NEEDED. GOD. I just kept reading the Gospels over and over and over again in my bible. I guess I got kinda stuck there for a minute because I wanted so much for my heart to be sharpened from the sadness there was. I've been sad for much of my life. I wanted to put myself into Jesus' time, feel his compassion, feel his sacrifice, learn his kind of love. And I remember, around this time, reading elsewhere in the bible that we should seek to give God glory in every little thing we do. After the Gospels, after learning I needed to give God the glory in everything--it was ON. I started feeling sorry for *Lynn when she was defiant because I knew it would one day beat her at her own game if she lived long enough. I started telling her "You know what, you really hurt me when you did that. But I think maybe you've hurt God more than me. I think he's sad right now *Lynn. And I think you should tell him you're sorry." I started telling her she should ask God to forgive her for doing badly. And of course she can't talk well. She's one but she's still a babe. So I pray for her with her. And you know what? The most amazing things started happening! She got better almost instantaneously. *Lynn smiles when we talk about God together. Her chubby little cheeks widen like a chipmunks jaws do when chock full of nuts from falls release. She loves clasping her hands to say grace while intermittently unclasping them to take in gobbles of food before grace is over. She thinks twice about committing her favorite tormentuous deeds after we pray to God about helping her not to bite or scratch or hit or pinch her four-year-old big sis. She says "please" and "thank you" now instead of the alternate of crying for 45 minutes because she doesn't want to. God's brings out the best of that kid. And you know, he brings out the best of me too. God's perspective is definitely what Perspective Matters Most. I'm learning its love that changes people. That's the perspective God wants us to embody. But sometimes, I feel like I can't do it, you know. Its times like TODAY that I feel like I can't. I don't just want to go home because I'm sick. I want to go home because I feel Love slipping and I don't want it to. The Big P has caused a shift in mood and a physical pain so debilitating I've become horribly impatient. Part of loving others means sacrificing impatience--realizing it's not about you, representing God PAST affliction. But I'm so pained today. So pained. It hurts to walk, it hurts to talk. Thus, our usual playtime and banter has become an evaporation, and discipline has been reduced from "God loves you. Please show love and be kind like him," to "I SAID STOP IT. DO IT ONE MORE TIME!" And of course this breeds defiance. I'm not loving the children right today and they know it. And as I said before:

"I feel bad for the kids. My patience is down to 1 cent so they don't have my heart today. They don't have my heart today, which means they won't give me theirs. And because they won't give me theirs, I'll probably become even more impatient."

Now what kind of way is this to represent God?

I've got the Nanny Blues and a bit more growing to do.