nonsense and discipline

to whom it may concern:

i believe in honor.

when you tell me we can be friends but you’re not interested in a relationship with any woman, i will guard my heart.

when you tell me you don’t need me to call or text you, i will honor your request.

when you tell me you don’t need help, i will not offer my assistance.

be mindful of the words you speak.

intent carries inertia. it makes what you say become reality.

passive aggressive behavior is dangerous all around.

be mindful you’re not being a bully when you can choose to be kind and loving.

brave introspection reveals less than desirable behaviors to us. it offers a rear view mirror of our lives, sometimes reflecting people who love you running the other direction because they were not valued.

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photo credit: pixabay

father only puts up with our nonsense for so long. then he comes with loving discipline because we cannot be children forever. we must grow up.

he removes the people we bully, scapegoat and gas light because he loves them. he will hide and protect them.

he also removes them because he loves us.

after he’s done a hot extraction to rescue our victims of selfishness and narcissism, there’s only the two of us left. then what?

then it’s time to learn who we really are. it’s time to stop living that false identity. it’s time to stop acting out in toddler-esque behavior. it’s time to grow up in jesus.

now, i’m going to get personal.

i won’t say you don’t deserve me because at the core of your being, you absolutely do. you deserve the best. that is father’s plan for you.

it’s also his plan for me. i deserve his best because i’m his daughter. i deserve better than being bullied and mistreated. i deserve to be honored, loved and cherished as my father‘s daughter.

it doesn’t mean there’s not room for mercy, forgiveness and grace. it means i am loving and honoring myself properly. it means i will honor my boundaries to stay healthy.

i’m not willing to eat bread crumbs from the floor when i can feast abundantly at his table. the same holds true for you.

the door to your heart is only open to me when you open it to Jesus. the first love gate belongs to Him. i am second.

until you say, ‘yes’ to holy spirit and yield to the transforming work of the cross in your own life, you won’t have room for me in your heart. it really is that simple.

as you are healed and made whole, you take responsibility for your words and your behavior.

you take responsibility for saying yes to holy spirit’s fire every day so fruit can develop in your life.

me?

i am content. i am my father‘s daughter. no matter what you choose, i will move forward and complete my destiny. nothing will change that.

none of us can fix our lives. not one. nope. nada. zip.

jesus showed up so we would stop the do-it-yourself, burn-the-house-to-the-ground home-improvement projects.

your life was never meant to be torment.

it was meant to be beautiful, full of love, grace and good fruits. you get to choose.

look around you. i know you don’t like what you see and i know you don’t like how you behave. you shouldn’t. it’s not who you really are. i see you. i know.

surrender. surrender it all. surrender your pride. surrender your self-rule.

invite his hammer of grace to come down and utterly smash every false idol you’ve erected.

be who you are as a son of god and kick every false identity to the curb.

give to jesus the reward of his suffering – you.

learn who he is. learn who you are. break bread with him.

cultivate a relationship with the one who made you.

today’s a good day to be born from above.

we have things to do, things we agreed to written on parchment scrolls stored in heaven.

i still believe in you.

now you must do the same.

copyright jane doe productions © 2019

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thirteen months

july 2017 to august 2017. thirteen months filled with love, laughter, healing and thirteen months of intense warfare, deception, heartbreak and overcoming. she’d lived to tell.

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photo credit: pixabay

sword in her right hand and scepter in her left, she’d learned her lessons well. relationships ended from bad choices and the enemy overplaying his hand.

demons were overcome in battles fought only to win. there was no other way except through. her gifts and abilities were honed and refined, becoming useful, dangerous weapons.

father moved her back to the place where the war had begun seven years earlier. standing in a ‘live to tell’ place in time, the song played in her head, the words encouraging her fingers on the keyboard.

if i ran away, i’d never have the strength
to go very far
how would they hear the beating of my heart
will it grow cold
the secret that i hide, will i grow old
how will they hear
when will they learn
how will they know

a man can tell a thousand lies
i’ve learned my lesson well
hope i live to tell
the secret i have learned, ’till then
it will burn inside of me

the truth is never far behind
you kept it hidden well
if i live to tell
the secret i knew then
will i ever have the chance again

some stories would be told without repercussion while others were time sensitive, requiring discernment on their release.

others still would hold consequences. choices for righteousness would be offered yet again. others would remain secret. honor and love protect both the guilty and the innocent.

when the last showdown occurred, she was still standing, having never hit the ground. she stood shocked, betrayed, bruised and bloodied with a deep stab wound.

her nemesis was a pawn of the enemy, a sister she had loved well, trusted implicitly, shared her life with on every level. when the bad acting was fully revealed and over, she forgave quickly and easily.

scissors in hand, she quickly cut the puppet strings above her head one by one. freedom came like a freight train, joy and peace flooding her soul.

witchcraft is ugly. it takes the wounded captive but cares not if they are destroyed with the intended target. the enemy cares little about collateral damage or friendly fire.

the spirit made several attempts at re-entry into her home and life. she put it on notice, now clearly recognizing it as the same one that had astral projected into the tacoma convention center a year earlier. “if you come in here, or anywhere in the realm of my authority, i will cut your silver cord and it will be over for you. your choice. i have permission.”

she closed the spiritual doors, gates and any other potential opening, taking care to remove anything from her possession that constituted a soul tie.

jewelry is not lovely or valuable if it has bad juju on it. she blessed it and gave it to an employee at a local retailer, a young woman delighted at the unexpected gift. those earrings would look lovely on her. might as well do good with them.

the exposure increased and intensified over several months at the end, a mental game of chess that turned physical on occasion as the enemy tried to take her out.

she knew she needed help. every morning she asked the spirit of truth to lead her into all truth while asking father to show her where witchcraft was operating in her life. he showed her and quickly.

she questioned him about the unraveling and inevitable end on august 25, understanding very little as physical strength flowed back into her body.

on august 26, he said, “everything has a season.” she nodded, taking it to heart. she knew he would tell her more as she could bear it.

it didn’t take long.

on september  8, he continued. “you asked for preparation, for training, for discernment and equipping. opportunities were given to you to increase in those areas.”

the training was hard, ugly, painful and costly. the losses alone nearly made her give up hope. instead, she held the promises tightly in her fists, speaking them out and reminding father of them often. they would not be stolen. she had confidence he would restore what had been damaged or stolen.

when she asked jesus to pull out the last knife, it didn’t hurt too much at all.

she learned her lessons well. she lived to tell.

jane doe productions © 2018

 

 

shouting into the wind

they drove to the coast for the day. she had some props to stage and photograph for a piece she was writing. she invited him along for company, for help and because she loved him.

it wasn’t a good weather day at the beach. the temperature was cold and the sky was overcast. the wind blew hard. after parking the car, they got out their cameras to explore the treasures of the beach.

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photo credit: jane doe

it wasn’t long before he began walking the other direction, intently focused on unusual birds and adjusting camera settings. maybe today he would get perfect shots that would fix all the broken things.

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photo credit: jane doe

she watched him go, giving him time do what he loved. it was low tide, offering them a rare opportunity to see eddies and tide pools normally hidden in high tide. the wind and the waves formed intricate designs and patterns in the sand. she took a few photos as she admired the handiwork and creativity of the one who’d made it all.

after a while she needed his help.  she began calling his name as she walked toward him. to her surprise, he turned and walked the other direction, oblivious to her calls, to her existence on the beach with him. she started shouting his name hoping he would hear her voice above the wind, willing him to hear her deep calling to his.

suddenly, stark reality pierced her heart. tears and wind stung her eyes. she stopped shouting and stopped walking.  she stood still in the wind watching him walk further away from her.

she realized he wouldn’t have needed to hear her if he saw her and honored her in his heart. he would have sensed her need and heard her calling him in his spirit.

but he couldn’t honor her because he didn’t honor father. and there were things blocking his vertical relationship with his abba. they were cameras, lenses, flash drives, birds, animals, all good things, yes, but they’d become idols.

the very gifts he’d been given were now stumbling blocks as he looked to them for identity and fulfillment. every day, he put them first, blocking the goodness, love and healing father wanted to pour into him.

those good things caused blindness, a tunnel vision in every part of his life. he was unable to see anyone else because he was focused on himself. similar to a funhouse mirror, the tunnel vision was destroying the very relationships he said mattered most to him.

vertical relationships with father, jesus and holy spirit must be correctly aligned for horizontal relationships with people to work.

first things first.

jane doe productions © 2018

 

 

possibilities, potential and promise

it was 5 am saturday morning. she was wide awake. sleeping in wasn’t happening today. another roller coaster week in her never a dull moment life was over. it was time to rest and reflect, laugh again.

it was a melting pot of warfare, sleepless nights, tears, passionate conversations with bad endings. demons swearing at her. nice. what was that about being blessed when you’re persecuted and people talk ugly to you? she shook her head and laughed. the devil only has a hissy fit when you’re doing something right. well then.

trust the process

“trust the process,” her friend told her. when she heard it, she knew it came right from papa god’s heart. trust the process. indeed. she’d asked papa for his best for her.

she’d seen him through his papa’s eyes for some time now. she saw him in truth, in perfection, as a beloved son even when he wasn’t fully awake to this reality.

he’d had brilliant prophetic words spoken over him, words of promise, hope and a future. he saw vignettes of unlimited possibilities and potential, the ways papa god wanted to bless him as his son. he saw how his gifts and talents could be brought to life.

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photo credit: pixaby

most importantly, he was presented with the beautiful gift of a wife, a full partner he could walk with in this life. would he step into his destiny? would he come back for her?

this was a major life decision. in returning to her, he’d be turning his face fully back to papa god. it meant walking arm in arm with him in unity. it meant stepping into sonship.

it meant radical change in direction, a homecoming worth celebrating loudly. the cloud of witnesses perched on the edge of their seats wondering how this would play out. would he choose well? would he be bold and courageous? yes, the stakes were high but the reward was great.

she’d prayed intently over him and his family for cleansing and restoration in their blood lines. for all the enemy stole to be returned to them 7-fold.

weeks turned to months, months grew to years. she wept over him, took communion over him, visioning life with him. she determined to cooperate fully with papa god, willing him to have every opportunity to make the best choice for his future and future generations.

she prayed for wisdom and revelation that the eyes of his understanding would be open. she prayed for his heart to be one with father god’s heart again. she called to his spirit to rise up and lead his soul, declaring his spirit would only be led by holy spirit.

faithful friends stood with her and prayed. in all of it she kept telling papa god she wanted his best.

she gave him wide margins to work things out on his own. she spoke when holy spirit prompted her – and sometimes when silence was the better option. grace covered her.

unconditional love often gets an unexpected response

wisdom dictated several things she would not compromise. those things had earned her unfriending, blocking and ‘goodbye.’ unconditional love often gets an unexpected response.

jesus chimed in on her thoughts, showing her some of his daily experience. he’s telling us, “i love you, i’m here for you, not leaving you. ever.” his compassion rises, watching us trying to stitch up our gaping wounds. we lay there bleeding, still holding up the hand, saying, “i’m good here. get the hell away from me.

see how we are

see how we are. still, he doesn’t leave. he waits until we give in, showing him our wounds, allowing him to love and heal us. she remembered her conversation with jesus, drowning in her own lake of mess. “i am so freaking broken. what do you want with me??

she could see it wasn’t him rejecting her. it was a combination of pain, fear and angst speaking, a realization that the old ways of dodging brokenness weren’t working.

she didn’t leave, either. she loved him hard, praying for him when she would have rather kicked his backside. love never fails, never gives up. it gets up in the morning to love another day, to love the hell away.

now, she waited, trusting the process, waiting on the promise.

the best man is coming for her.

copyright jane doe productions © 2018

 

the white orchid

it was a birthday gift from a *sister, the one who filled the role of *jonathan in their david and jonathan relationship.

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photo credit: pixabay

it was breathtaking, in full bloom the day she received it, adorned with five beautiful white blossoms. she’d never had an orchid before. it intimidated her. she knew they could be tricky to care for.

not only that, but this was a gift from a friend. what if it died? this was different than failing with a plant you bought for yourself. there was pressure to keep the plant alive and nurture the relationship that was clearly from papa god. oh boy.

over time, the delicate white petals dried up and gently fell to the cabinet below. the stems that held the petals also dried up and fell off. only a long green stalk remained where so much glory and beauty had shown weeks earlier. even the stalk began to dry up. she clipped it back, hopeful it would prevent further decay. it did not.

desperate, she cut it back again. ugh. this was a failure. no, she was failing at caring for the white orchid. so she thought.

there was danger in overwatering these plants. she followed the watering instructions. and somehow overwatered it. the little pieces of bark on the top of the pot grew mold. the small new shoots at the bottom of the plant were moldy. more failure. frustrated, she cut off some of the moldy shoots. they would not recover from the mold.

conversely, the green leaves at the base of the plant were huge. they looked healthy while the stalk that once held the flowers was dried up and quite a bit shorter than before. she shook her head. overall, the prognosis was poor. the big leaves were healthy but would it ever bloom again?

every day she looked at the orchid, wondering if she should just throw it in the dust bin and be done with it. looking at it was tormenting, a constant reminder of failure.

one day, with a burst of resolve, she moved it to the window ledge. here it would get intense sunlight whenever the sun made an appearance during the rainy winter. she still gave it an occasional drink, teetering between willing it to live and wanting to pitch it. she was sure she sucked at caring for this gift. where had the green thumbs gone?

months went by. on the saturday morning before easter sunday, she decided to give it a little drink. she considered it might be wise to turn the whole plant around on the window ledge. the backside of the orchid could benefit from the sun, too.

this complicated plant closely mirrored another relationship. she wrestled with vision, hope, and big promises from papa god about this one. all her eggs were in this one basket. the investment was great, the risk high, the reward and return not yet realized. it made her lay awake at night sometimes. what was that about walking by faith and not by sight?

reaching down, she turned the plant 180° and set it down gently. sitting back down at her desk, she saw it. there was a new, beautiful green shoot growing from the stalk she’d cut back and left for dead. not only that, there was another smaller shoot growing up at the base of the pot on the top of one of those big, healthy green leaves.

new life was springing up all over this plant.

she was dumbstruck. leaning in for closer examination with wide eyes and eyebrows raised, she found yet another new shoot growing from underneath another large green leaf. even the moldy shoots that remained were growing new shoots. what???

Shirley Temple
photo credit: tv guide

the stalk she’d thought was dead was now producing new life. she looked at it, tears running down her face. new life was springing up all over this plant she’d wanted to toss out.

she looked spoke to the orchid and the man she loved in her words of blessing.

“i bless you to grow and bloom more than you were ever told you could.”

the plant and the man would respond beautifully to her words of love and encouragement.

it was easter morning when she wrote this post. the deer were passing through the back yard, playing and leaping as they often did. her morning cup of coffee went down easy as she listened to elisabeth cooper (the journey) sing about the banqueting table set before her.

the plant continued to speak to her. things were seldom as they appeared. more tears flowed.

then she heard daddy god’s quiet voice break into her thoughts, mingling with her hopeful tears.

“what you see as failure, i see as growth…”

 

copyright jane doe productions © 2018

turn around, look

the weeks apart turned into months. truth be told, it was not easy. standing and believing took on new meaning. her faith grew exponentially in the process.

day by day, she took communion, prayed and declared over them and their children, mixed lot that they were. when she prayed, she saw things and then she would speak them out. in one vignette, she saw him with his head resting on father god’s chest, hearing the heartbeat of the one who made him.

in another, she saw father god building a new bridge between him and one of his children. they approached from opposite ends of the bridge, getting closer to each other every day. in the moment they met in the middle, they entered into a brand new beginning, one that would make up for the lost years.

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photo credit: pixabay

she knew he was getting closer. father gave her dreams to encourage her to keep doing what she was doing. he was so close, she could feel it. when the breakthrough began, she would see him coming to the house to get her, standing at the front door ringing the doorbell.

other times, she would see him at her work. memories of them working in the conference room together would flood back to her mind. they were precious, sweet and painful at the same time. their foundation together had been good, but now it would be strong, solid, immoveable. father said so.

several friends knew this road they were walking out. their prayers were impactful, clear, declarative, filled with power and love. praying together, they moved things that had blocked and hindered, clearing a path for his healing, freedom, future and calling.

on the day she cut a cord of control and witchcraft, one friend observed it would take him a few days to get his bearings. this action was critical. the ties that held him captive held him no more. now, he was able to move freely like never before.

and then, days later, father let her see him walking free. on a thursday night after work, she headed to the pool for a swim. it was the same pool where they’d met a year earlier. it was the same park they walked and talked around many times.

the sighting

she was parked on the street sitting in the car talking to another friend. their conversation went all over the place, rabbit tracks in every direction. they were still getting to know each other. there was a lot of ground to cover – and not. conversations were rarely short and this was no exception. she opened the car windows to keep from melting from the heat. she rolled down the passenger window and looked to her left. what she saw stopped her talking in mid-sentence.

there he was, walking on the path. she looked again, hard. yes, it was him.oh, my god, he’s here, ****’* here!!! he’s about twenty feet away from me walking on the path around the park. what do i do?!?!”

‘”what is the lord saying to you to do?” “i don’t know! my heart is beating so hard i can’t think.” she stopped talking to listen, to feel and know what to do. then it was easy.

“i’m not doing anything. i’m not going after him. he still has to come for me when he’s ready. i just get to see him.” crying, she continued, “he looks good. he’s standing taller. and his gait seems more purposeful, like he’s freer and sorting things out.”

she waited to see if he went into the pool building. he did not. he kept walking. “okay, he’s out of sight now. i’ve got to get in the building while he’s on the other side of the park.” they postponed their remaining conversation until later.

she went on to swim. what was normally relaxing was anything but after the excitement of the ‘sighting.’ she kept an eye on the men’s changing room to see if he’d walk through the door.

when later came and their conversation resumed, both women agreed how special it was for father to let her see him. she knew a few more things now, with certainty: he was healing. he was free. he was stronger. and he would be coming for her soon.

the next morning, another friend messaged her. she asked if something had happened with him due to her post the night before: “tears of joy, peace, contentment, high expectations and a pint of organic vanilla ice cream drowning in chocolate sauce. it was a grand day. ♥”

this friend had surmised correctly, and she had some encouragement to bring, as well. she offered what father showed her:

“it’s not a long road between you two,” father says. “turn around, look.” she continued. “i see things in pictures mostly. so i saw the path being swept, and you a short distance away waiting. father is saying turn around and look. maybe an encouragement to see what father is doing.”

yes, it was an encouragement. yes, yes, yes! she mulled over the words again. “it’s not a long road between you two. father says, “turn around, look.”

she turned around to look.

psalm 37:4 the voice

take great joy in the eternal!
his gifts are coming, and they are all your heart desires!

(copyright © 2017 jane doe productions)

letters for momma

the finer details of momma’s life were hard to grasp, often getting further out of reach anytime she asked more questions. it was still so painful for momma to talk about it all. she was just a little girl when grandpa took her to live with his sister and her husband on the farm in the midwest. momma had settled into country life but from what she heard, family relationships were far from healthy or peaceful.

grandpa had married a second time. momma didn’t have good things to say about her. she used the ‘b’ word to describe her, and she said she was mean. when marriage #2 fell apart for him, grandpa divorced and married a third time. this was the woman she knew as step-grandma.

sorting through the memories in her head, she knew momma grew up on the farm with the big white craftsman style house with plenty of cousins and neighbors nearby. she went to a small lutheran grade school and then public high school, both in the nearby town. aunt and uncle must have doted on her. it had to be so. but what else was there?

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photo credit: pixaby

the letters remained secret for decades, their existence revealed when momma’s three stepsisters came to visit. see unpacking old bags.  momma had her own family now, three of her four children born. the girls were there visiting in part because the momma the four of them shared had died. she’d never been able to see her oldest daughter again.

as the four sisters visited and got acquainted over the span of a month, the oldest stepsister finally asked the question. “didn’t you get all those letters momma sent you?” time must have stopped right there. even now, she could feel the shockwaves go through the air as she imagined her momma processing the question.

“what letters? you mean she wrote to me?” oh, god. how father’s heart must have lurched as he watched his daughter learn that her momma had reached out to her, not just once, but many, many times.

letters had been mailed from various locations where momma’s momma, her new husband and her 3 daughters had lived. both women had been having babies at the same time, odd as that seemed.

it wasn’t clear how soon after her daddy had moved her across the country that the letters began to travel through the postal service to the well kept farm. there were more questions than answers. one thing was clear: momma never got the letters her momma wrote and mailed.

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photo credit: pixabay

this was shock and awe, none of it good. it took forgiveness to a whole new level. the very people momma felt indebted to for taking her in and raising her were the same ones who’d kept her momma’s letters from her. her daddy knew, too. who’d made the decision to keep those letters from her and why?

from a safe distance now many years later, she wondered how could her momma process her emotions and feelings properly when the people she might talk to about it were the same ones who were accountable for the betrayal? all this mess explained a lot. her momma had bitterness, unforgiveness, trauma, betrayal and who knows what else thrown into the mix.

the spirit of religion kept a tight lid on the dysfunction and deception. no one talked about any of it. just keep looking good when you go to church on sunday, and everything will be fine. what a bunch of dung.

and there was her poor momma, sick and broken in her soul from all of it. it broke her so badly that any chance for healthy relationships with her own husband and kids was virtually destroyed. that generation didn’t have the same revelation or tools to get on the other side of this stuff. they had no grid for soul or emotional healing.

fast forward to today. it was still all so much to process. the great aunt and uncle that had raised momma had been grandparents to her. she loved them. uncle had died over twenty years ago, but auntie was still going strong at 101, tooling around the nursing home in her wheelchair with a hearing aid that was seldom turned on.

her own emotions went all over the map. it was easy to see now why there had been so much friction between her momma and grandpa. there was guilt. it explained why grandpa’s death had been so troubling.

momma, i am so sorry. i tell you this in all truth: daddy god loves you, and jesus has been with you in all of the pain and trauma.

your story is not over yet. it’s going to end well.

(copyright © 2017 jane doe productions)