Posted on by Lois Stephens

The Story

“All of these lines across my face, tell you the story of who I am …”

The song lyrics linger with a reluctance to leave the divine divide between conscious and nonconscious thought.  By now I recognize that this is just one more way that God speaks to me: through music and lyric and poetry and prose.  I ask for understanding and patiently wait.  Selah – a Hebrew word used in the Psalms meaning to stop, pause and reflect. 

It makes no difference to me that the song would never be sung in a religious setting.  Some of my greatest prophetic inspiration has come from music not written for the church. God speaks in a multitude of ways, if we but choose to be open and listen.

Leaving some of the lyrics here … to linger a while. Selah.

The Story
Words and music by Phillip John Hanseroth

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true, I was made for you ...

You see the smile that's on my mouth
It's hiding the words that don't come out
And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed
They don't know my head is a mess
No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what
I've been through like you do
And I was made for you ...

Love & Peace,

My frame was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all are written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them.”  Psalm 139:15-16.

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Posted on by Lois Stephens

Eben-Ezer: Stone of Help

“You will find something more in woods than in books. Trees and stones will teach you that which you can never learn from masters.” ― Saint Bernard of Clairvaux

Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Yet still I raise my Ebenezer to you and by your help alone I come.

Love & Peace,

Posted on by Lois Stephens

Table of Trust

The LORD speaks, “I prepare a table before you in the presence of your enemies”.  So, I pull out a chair and take a seat at the table.  I mean, what else can I do?  And I eat.

* * * * * * *

In 1888, the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche wrote, “Out of life’s school of war—what doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger.”  This aphorism has been quoted, paraphrased, and parodied by people throughout the world since.

Yet 2,000 years before, a young shepherd boy and giant killer, who will later become King of Israel, said it this way: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies”, delivered as a poetic praise to G-d.

The symbolic table of trust—an inexpressible mystery that transcends my limited understanding. My enemies become bread at the table of trust. I eat the mystery, no matter how difficult to swallow. And I am stronger because of it.

Love & Peace,

Author’s note: When I refer to “enemies” I am not referring to people, but the enemies of my soul. I understand all too well, that at times, my greatest enemy is myself.


“We Have Met the Enemy and He is Us.”

Walt Kelly

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Holding Hands With Strangers

Driving along the rim of wild, navigating a backcountry road in Maine, I embrace the solitary.  Content in the fellow-less firmament, holding hands with nature, I enjoy an awareness of simply being.  Until …

A stranger walking the road ahead.  Who is she?  Why is she here?  And the biggest question of all … do I stop to ask if she needs help?  Fear would say no, but a greater faith speaks. 

“Hello there. Are you okay? Would you like a ride?”

“A ride would be much appreciated.“

By the rim of the wild, I could not turn away from the tears in her eyes, so I left my fellow-less firmament to hold hands with a stranger that day.

“What’s your name?” (it seems the right thing to ask).

“Amy”, she replies (a name I know means beloved and dearly loved).

She tells me her story:  a broken-down vehicle, miles to hike to her wilderness camp, eight passerby and not one willing to stop.  A sad lament of rejection, loneliness and fallen faith in her fellow man; I cringe. 

I silently entreat the light of God’s love to shine upon The Beloved’s discouraged heart, as we drive the distance to her rustic camp and deliver her safely at tent’s door.

Days later, in a serendipitous moment, we meet once again at the local town store. 

“It’s you!  I was just telling my family about the kindness you showed me.”

Amy the Beloved’s face shines with renewed faith and hope in her fellow man because of one small act of kindness.

Something happened that day in the wild, when I did not turn from the tears of another but made the decision to hold hands with a stranger. 

Could it be that holding hands with nature, in the wrap-around presence of the loving Creator God, brings an awareness of a deeper spiritual connection we have with all of God’s creation? An awareness that empowers me to hold hands with strangers?

Holding hands with strangers is rarely comfortable, especially for an introvert like me. Yet I have to believe that the reward for doing so is exceedingly great.

Love & Peace,

I think we need to do some deep soul searching about what’s important in our lives and renew our spirit and our spiritual thinking, whether it’s through faith-based religion or just through loving nature or helping your fellowman.

Louie Schwartzberg

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13

The Holy Bible

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A Lonesome Journey of the Heart

Man Siting on Log in Center of Forest Panoramic Photo

A walk in the wood.  A rustic log bench.  An invitation to take a seat upon nature’s pew, so I do. 

The memory comes out of nowhere—and everywhere—at the same time.  I’ve experienced it before, and acquiesce to the process.  

The church pew feels hard and sticky against the back of her bare legs.  The man up front is talking … a lot.  He says that God gets angry when we do bad things. 

The girl squirms.  She wants desperately to pop her thumb into her mouth, to soothe herself from the uncomfortableness of it all, but the shame she’d feel if the others knew she still sucks her thumb keeps her tiny hand balled tightly against her side.  

And besides, she doesn’t want God to get angry with her for doing “the bad thing”.

So instead, she wiggles next to her father and hides her face in the scratchy tweed of his Sunday-best.  In the hidden place, she breathes in and sighs, or maybe it’s a yawn, or maybe a little of both.

Without a word between them, and as nimble-fingered as a stealthy pickpocket, her father quickly reaches into an inside pocket, silently unwraps the lolly and pops it into her mouth. 

The memory lingers softly.  There’s nothing sweeter and more satisfying than the taste of a father’s love. 

My father was far from perfect, but he was kind.  He rarely, if ever, raised his voice and never his hand.  I did not doubt his love for me—ever.  He helped form my view of God as a father in a positive way.  For this I am grateful.

I realize others have a different story.  Raised voices and heavy hands fill their memories.  They weren’t loved in a healthy way.  (I don’t pretend to understand.)  Because of their experience, they may have a difficult time relating to God as father.  For this I am sorry. 

However, the essence of fatherhood springs from God, not man.  The behaviors of our earthly fathers, no matter how good or bad, are not the standards by which God’s love can be measured. 

God’s love transcends the borders of my life experiences into a wild wilderness I am longing to brave.  It takes courage to go at it alone—a lonesome transformative journey of the heart that I’ll be navigating the rest of my life. 

The first step is always the hardest, but the journey will take your breath away.

Love & Peace.

“Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed upon us, that we should be called the children of God!” 1 John 3:1-3 NKJ

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The Courage of My Convictions

Some days I pick up The Good Book and it’s a surgeon’s knife. 

The story begins with Daniel, a young nobleman taken by force into captivity in Babylon, sometime around the year 600 BC.

Daniel, serendipitously chosen to be trained in service to the King, is assigned a daily amount of food and wine from the King’s table. However, Daniel resolves not to defile himself with the royal food and wine, considered ceremonially unclean according to his faith. And even though refusing the King would likely cost him his life, Daniel stands firm in the courage of his convictions.

I lay down The Book. The two-edged knife-words cut deep… “the courage of his convictions”.   

The probe digs deeper still: when have I demonstrated the courage of my convictions?  The confidence to do what I believe is right, even though other people may not agree or approve? 

I tend to capitulate far too often in order to keep peace (many times sacrificing my own inner peace in the doing).  Yet I have stood firm a time or two in demonstrations of the courage of my convictions, albeit with shaking knees.

“My mother always taught us that if people don’t agree with you, the important thing is to listen to them.  But if you’ve listened to them carefully and you still think that you’re right, then you must have the courage of your convictions.”

Jane Goodall

For me, those demonstrations of the courage of my convictions have resulted in my greatest life lessons.  Yet I suspect, albeit with shaking knees, that more opportunities await just around the corner. 

So I pray that I might first listen well. And then, if need be, I pray for the courage of my convictions.

Love & Peace,

“But you, take courage! Do not let your hands be weak, for your work shall be rewarded.” 2 Timothy 1:7

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From Womb to Tomb

Looking up from mopping the floor, I see my first-born at the door.  Innocent child hands pressed close to the heart.  Compassion tears pool at the brim of her lashes.  I wonder what could be wrong.

Brows wrinkle, eyes squint; I look hard at the little brown fluff laying between hands and heart … and gasp.  To my complete and utter horror, the little brown fluff is nothing more than a dead field mouse.

“Oh My God!  Put that thing down—it’s dirty!” I shriek. 

My solemn little girl says not a word (she knows me well by now), but only turns on her heels and out she goes with a bang of the wooden screen door.

I lean hard into the mop.  The spotless floor shines casting dark shadows across my mind.  When out of the shadows Wisdom speaks:

It seems to me of great importance to teach children respect for life.

And wouldn’t respect for life include both honoring its sacred beginning as well as its sacred end?    

I drop the mop and run to the light—to the kitchen window of my soul.  And through the pane, on bended knee with garden hose in hand, she carefully washes the “dirt” away from the little brown fluff she found. 

In the moment, I am led by a child into greater heights of compassion and understanding.

Life — from the very moment it begins to its very last breath — is the pinnacle of God’s creative imagination and power. The sanctity of life, from womb to tomb, transcends all political rhetoric of our day.

Love & Peace,

“… And a little child shall lead them.”  Isaiah 11:6

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Flexible Boundaries

A new box of crayons—the smell, the colors—pure joy.  Each one perfectly wrapped and marked with glorious names like forest green, aquamarine and azure blue.  With coloring books spread out in front of me, I sigh.  Yes, a perfect sigh of contentment and bliss.  It doesn’t get any better than this, UNTIL …

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her.  Sister number 1.  The perfect one who can do no wrong.  I can’t help myself; I have to look.  Her picture doesn’t look like mine.  I avert my eyes but like a bad train wreck, I can’t help but take a look back.  I sigh.  Not the earlier sigh of contentment and bliss … for my 5-year old ego was deflating fast.

Her coloring page—magnificent beyond compare.  Every color selected with care, complementary hues harmonizing throughout. But here’s the thing that really stood out:  She outlined every color with a solid black line in a way that made her picture look, well … like beautiful stained glass.  Sigh.  (Do I hear the angels sing?)

So, what can I do but try it, too?  I dig deep for the lonely black crayon (unused and still perfectly sharpened) and carefully, I trace a solid black line around every color on the page.  After way too long, I sit back on my knees to admire my “stained glass”. And, sigh. No contentment–no bliss; and definitely no angels to be heard.

******

Give me flexible boundaries—no hard, black-lines for me, please.  Joy, freedom and creativity flow best when I’m free from the opinions of men.  It’s not easy—especially as a person of faith (everyone has an opinion when it comes to religion).  But I choose not to hide behind a stained-glass life when it comes to living my faith.   

“Come now, and let us reason together”, says the LORD to me (as good and as bad as the next).  And we talk together outside of man’s stained-glass (so easily shattered by stones).  You see, it’s easy to manage sinful behavior safely hidden behind religion’s confines.  But what if instead we learn to manage our freedom outside of those safe black lines?

Love & Peace,

“Come now, and let us reason together, says the Lord; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow, though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. Isaiah 1:18

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The Poetry of Life

“You need the strength of endurance to reveal the poetry of God’s will.”  Hebrews 10:36 TPT

The poetry of life.  A framework of poetic structure: rhythmic qualities, imaginative awareness; brimming with aesthetic-beauty moments (if only I’d stop long enough to notice). 

A life arranged by the Creator-Master Poet.  Composed to call forth a human-heart response through meaning, sound and the rhythms of a faith-enlarging life.

It takes a strength beyond self to reveal the poetry of life.  Its ambiguity, irony and metaphorical connections have left my life open to myriad interpretations (and people can be so cruel).

It takes connecting serendipitous dots with hopeful imagination and the strength of endurance for the perfection of The Poet’s passion to be revealed. A glorious unveiling of unrequited love that has power to turn even my tears into poetry.

Love & Peace,

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