The eternal week

Where to start? The past week and a half have seemed as months, and gone deeper than years of experience. Healing. Words. Hope. Connection. Promise in the midst of loss.

Two days of fasting. Endless prayer. Conversation after conversation. Prayer retreat all weekend. Reading just what I needed to hear to prepare for this week of purging and renewal. Insights coming at me from everywhere, in almost everything. One of those rare seasons where each moment is resonant with meaning. Tears and sobbing both. First loss. Grieving. Acknowledging. Then accepting. Receiving. Restoration through other means.

Oh, Daniel. Ever the soul mate to see beyond my words right to me. The truest me. We pray and stand together. We look out at the same vision and cry out for it with all our hearts. When I see my ugliness, you tell me of the profound joy I bring you -that there is no one else. “I am your bestest”, you say. And I concur with all of me. You have been more than I could have asked for... even as great as my asking was.

In the aftermath of rejection and loss, Dan feeds into me adoration, acceptance, and what is most unconditional of love. This love comes also from Justine as we cry and reveal together all afternoon. In Anita’s anne/diana-like promise to be there “as long as the sun and moon shall endure.” From Chelsea as she strokes my hair and says, “You have a good heart, Ginny.” To be seen at the heart. Few can do it, but those who have, such as these this week, have been messengers of God offering life-giving words.

God is telling me something through these signs… and through so much more. This week alone would take hundreds of pages of writing to expose the wealth of truth coming at me, into me, through me, around me. The promise redolent in the aftermath of loss where nothing remains but sad aching. Promise breathes her wind over the barren field and whispers, “Rise up. You will not only walk again, but are still being prepared to fly.”

As Kathy prayed over me this weekend, she described the talons that have gripped me being finally completely pulled out. I see the blood dripping from them, while she viewed the release and scars that no longer wound. May these scars remind me not once again of all I am not, which I already plague myself with constantly, but of who I am at heart, since a small girl, where no one can come in and steal my essence. The essence my Creator made me with. My essence is not rebellious, tiresome, hideous or worthless, much as I have accepted those lies and curses on me. Rather, it is needed, powerful, refreshing, beautiful, right. May God confirm the truth when even those I love cause me to doubt it was ever true. May God infuse this essence I have always had with balance and wisdom, seasoning the prophetic voice with grace for all. The grace I have so radically known.