Written on May 12, 2016.
This has been an undone day. One of those where we nearly get zipped back up only to split right open again. You see, it is 5/11 and the 9 year anniversary of our last day at the bank. Okay, so I didn’t work at the bank, but I prayed for my person while he did, so it’s our!
I felt to wait to blog today until after we fed the animals and completed our morning walk. That didn’t seem like the best idea as 6:00 am is a part of the day I can count on not being interrupted. So here I am at 8:00 pm, lol. I got that right, but have no “I told you so” after walking through this day.
I remembered what day it was as we were getting dressed and told my person “Happy 5/11”. On our walk, we burst forth with an abundance of thank yous to the Father who caught us when we jumped off the cliff. Who spoke tenderly to us when some around warned us of all the reasons our choice wasn’t going to be fruitful. And Who spoke fiercely to us when it was harder than we thought and we had no idea what we were doing. In His hands, He led us, guided us and taught us. He pulled us and prodded us when we needed it too.
In the big, wide open middle of a glorious gratitude, I was recounting the moment when my person walked across the threshold of home and our new life. I rushed to him to fill his empty hands with mine, only to discover that they were full with provisions he had been given as he left the place we were, to come to the place we were going. I remember weeping, lots. Even on the first day, Pappa was revealing that His hands would never be empty for us, not because of what He would give us but because of the tender way He would hold us.
With words and tears pouring out this morning, we both looked up. And we saw at exactly the same moment, a type of clouds we had never seen before. Kissed up clouds that looked like palm prints. His palm prints. Palms scarred, engraved with who we are so we can see ourselves unblemished.
A canvas of blue overflowing with fluffy white paint. I think Pappa’s refrigerator door for artwork is a lot bigger than ours, for there was not an empty spot. A masterpiece hung where we couldn’t miss it and a giddy God waiting excitedly for us to look up. And we stood rent and ripped.
That’s when the flood came and swept us away. A wild ride that we didn’t have to clean up after. A deluge of delight that cascaded us over memories and moments. It’s nice to dwell on a tidal plain!
The word that swished and swirled around my mouth like a mighty morsel until it could only outfall, was MANIFEST. For that is what He has been in our lives, not since that day. He was already present and poignant. It was just after that day, He became real and recognizable to us.
Not long after 5/11 I had an experience where my body filled with gold dust. Even though I had always believed He could do anything, that was a new one. All I knew to ask was what it meant to Him. That is the question I have asked Him since when He has done things I have never seen before. That day, He said it meant I was absolutely abandoned to Him. Best day ever!
His reply to me wasn’t simple statement. It came with an invitation and a choice. What would I chase? Him or it? That choice hung upon my heart in the days to come. For several years after, we couldn’t pray without angel feathers falling like snow in the living room. One day, we were praying about our house in Red Feather Lakes, CO and a red feather fell and landed right in my person’s hand. I couldn’t worship without gold caressing me softly somewhere. And the kids couldn’t seem to walk through the house without finding an angel to rollick with them. Crazy cool.
Yet, it was the question that pursued me. The one that hangs upon my heart still. What does it mean to Him to be manifest? To the core of my being, He said it meant He would be made visible and known. That what was hidden or unknown would be revealed. It meant He would be made visible and realized. He would be plainly recognized and thoroughly understood.
That has always been and ever will be what I want more than anything.
And so, when those around us told us to save the evidence of His presence in bags and containers, we made a choice. We would give away what He had revealed and made known, not keep it in a museum instead of memory. Though we were told that if we didn’t display the proof, He would stop coming, we simply couldn’t wrap in plastic the One who longed to be swaddled in a pillar (a place where His goodness passed and a people responded!) We celebrated every time He manifested (still do!) but saw how easily we could seek validation of ourselves through it instead of the revelation of Him. And so we chose to not be the angel people, but the abandoned people. A people who invite Him to manifest anytime and any way He wants.
Do angel feathers still fall every time we pray? No, they don’t at all. Does He manifest in new ways that we haven’t seen, experienced or imagined that are crazy cool? Yep, every day. Honestly, we never know how He’s coming, but through abandon we recognize Him when He arrives in hue and shade, note and noise, glimpse and gaze, scent and fragrance, tap and trace. When He can’t contain Himself and and Heaven spills out everywhere.
Sometimes the spill is messy. That’s why Jesus was born in a stable. We have learned that in the healing. In the days between when He didn’t come predictably and planned and man was displeased. And He simply wanted to be known differently than He had before. It’s a journey still, when your heart is to never tarnish or tame Him. I want to render, not ruin Him. Run or risk. Risk sent us off the cliff nine years ago. Reward caught us in the palms of His hands with our walls set perfectly before us. Maybe we will just run to Risk. Not safe, but so secure!
Linger and learn with Pappa as He reveals to you all the ways He manifests in your life, your home, your self. Journal and join Him in how he wants to manifest today. And let Him reveal to you anyway you have bound Him to a way He came before and not made room for how He wants to come now.
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