TITLE: The Unexpected Gift and Truth
By Carol Shaffron
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THIS MEANS WAR, AND THE BATTLE'S STILL RAGING… pierced the shroud of sleep that held me in its sweet embrace. I turned over and pulled the sheet closer to cocoon me more comfortably.
THIS MEANS WAR, AND THE BATTLE'S STILL RAGING…chased more of the brain fog away bringing me to conscious awareness of the morning’s darkness.
THIS MEANS WAR, AND THE BATTLE'S STILL RAGING…well, now I was awake enough to actually begin to start moving. Throwing the covers off, I stretched my limbs to ..
Why do we do that?
“You have get moving if you want to catch the bus to get the extra $5.” Brain: “Don’t push me.” “But if you ..”
Ignoring the persistent nagging about the extra $5, Brain directed Legs to the bathroom. Take care of your business Bladder – silent communication since both have cooperated for so long they no longer need language.
Time was passing..
“You’ll miss the bus.” “I don’t care.” “But you’ll lose the extra $5.” “No matter.”
Brain directed Legs to the kitchen where Arms (in silent cooperation directed by Brain) cut 2 slices of homemade bread and slipped them into the toaster. Because of their long standing relationship in which Legs, Arms, Eyes, Mouth etc had learned to read Brain’s mind never really questioning it’s instruction. (Oh, for the day when the body of Christ learns to distinguish the voice of THE Head from independent action.) How did that thought get in there?
“Too late now, that bus is gone.’
Brain: “Ah, no more rushing to meet someone else’s agenda. This is soooo nice.”
Sitting at my kitchen table with my toast and tea Brain directed Eyes to gaze out the old-fashioned 8 paned window across the table length. A lovely new blank grey-white canvass sky reminded me this was a new day on which to give God the brush to paint me into HIs living panorama His way.
Suddenly raindrops diving from my roof drew my eyes to their gymnastic feats of daring. Diving from the rooftop isn’t for timid, fearful, weak ……….. In one teensy instant my imagination leaped to the rooftop where untold numbers of these tiny little messengers from heaven landed singing, laughing, dancing and rejoicing in fulfilling their specific purpose. I literally felt as though I were joined with them and still feel the joy of that moment (though as I key this into my word processor some 28 hours later that experience is past…or is it, really? No, I think it will live with me forever even as all experiences become part of who we are and who we are becoming in God’s sculpturing hands.)
Those raindrops continued diving from my rooftop, racing one another to the death to fulfill their specific purpose of giving a cup of cold water to the dry parched ground. They knew for what they lived if only for the briefest moment! Oh, when the body…
Wow, Lord, this is worth so much more than a lousy extra $5! Thank You, Father for slowing down Brain today so I could join with the raindrops in rejoicing in You and hear their laughter and their joy in dying to fulfill Your Purpose for their short lived but extremely crucial lives!
You see I’ve never, ever been able to write as imaginatively or as creatively before. Depression at an early age prevented Brain from forming neural pathways to that room! It’s been locked for almost 45 years I’d say. But God! But God, mysterious wonder that He is set me into a family devastated by depression, poverty, division, and a few other marauders that spoiled what should have been our inheritance to give me the opportunity to actually BE THE CONQUEROR I ALWAYS WAS AND ALWAYS WILL BE IN CHRIST.
Church, body, Bride how about we quit hiding behind the images we have of who we imagine we’re supposed to be and open our hearts to God in quiet communion and then to one another and be healed? I long to see the Glory of God shining through each of us.
The one thing old mr dead religion has succeeded in doing is to convince us that being a Christian means instant transformation. Let’s see: cancer is ugly, painful and sometimes takes radiation and chemo and people flock to the side of the cancer patient to support them in all kinds of ways. When other tragedies strike everyone rallies together to help.
But the depressed person is judged for being lazy and not doing his best. The depressed person is left on the side of the road to try to make it best as he can. Bleeding and bruised inside where no wounds are visible, it’s assumed nothing is really wrong. I hadn’t really planned on going this way, but the Spirit in me …
“By now you should be..”
“HAVEN’T I HELPED YOU ENOUGH ALREADY?” Luke 10:33 But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, 34 And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35 And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee. 36 Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? 37 And he said, He that shewed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.”
Sure, maybe I need to grow a little more in grace and gentleness, but does that negate the truth of the message? Does that make YOU less responsible for those whose wounds you cannot see? What’s that old saying, “Until you’ve walked a hundred miles in another man’s moccasins..”
And yes, there is a time when a person has to fight through a battle or two on their own like the peep trying to peck its way out of the egg, and the butterfly its way out of the cocoon.
But because I had no Good Samaritan in my life—the story you read above had to wait at least 30 – 40 years to make its way to the surface. Perhaps if those who judged me as lazy and as not doing my best years ago had been that Good Samaritan we would all be benefiting from royalties from many articles, stories and books that I could not access because my loving family kept perpetuating the cycle. Do you detect a tad bit of bitterness? Perhaps. but that’s the result of the chemo, the messy part of real healing. And until we in the body are allowed a safe place to spill all of our guts—no true healing will really occur. That’s the sad thing about today’s Christianity. It’s plastic. It’s fake. It’s a masquerade party…
Why, pray tell are all human emotions permitted in writing except…certain ones that NEED to be cleansed from the heart? Are we afraid to face them in our own hearts? Are we keeping those things buried and hidden cloaking ourselves in fig leaves…
It’s time church to take off our masks…
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