And The River Flows

From my journal dated March 25, 2012

The waters returning to Lake Travis (Jonestown, Texas)

From my vantage point under my new friend, the Old Oak Tree, the water at the bottom of the lake bed is now easily visible, and it is flowing. 

As the sun's rays dance on the surface of the southerly flow, it is as though the waters are singing a joyous song of redemption, proclaiming praise to the Giver of life. No one needs to instruct this river where to go. Its waters flow naturally and with purpose in constant movement to the music of their life song. The birds sing along as bees and butterflies prance among the flowers in a full-on presentation to the rest of creation.

My own life seems sometimes to lack this kind of divine flow - the effortless sense of simply being in the flow of what I was designed to be and to do. There are days I long for my existence to be simple - uncomplicated, when I yearn to escape from the pressure cooker that seems to define my waking moments. 

Taken standing in the bottom of the lake bed.

But then I remember that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, crafted by the same fingers that smeared mud on the eyes of a blind man to restore his sight. 

I remember that my moments, every last one of them, are nestled safely in the in the palm of the same hands that blessed five loaves of bread and two fish, multiplying them to feed thousands. 

I remember that the same voice that spoke the whole of creation into existence now gently whispers my name, calling me to come away with Him to a secret place where we can dwell together. 

When I remember these things and take them to heart, the refrain of my own life song begins to reawaken within me. The flow is being restored, and it is well with my soul.

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From Dry Bones to Living, Breathing Destinies

From my journal dated 3.11.12

Sitting at a picnic table facing what used to be part of Lake Travis. What my eyes behold now is a dry riverbed with barren boat docks, the kind that used to be floating on top of several feet of water. Now they are merely forlorn shells, reminiscent of what once was.

Last year's record drought wreaked havoc on the lakes of Central Texas, particularly Lake Travis. Even with the steady rains we have had in recent weeks, the lakes are still many, many feet below normal, and the driest parts still hold no water at all. Only Go knows if it will ever be normal again, ,and if so, when and what it will take to get there.

As I sit and stare at a dry riverbed and thousands of dry rocks and boulders, I am reminded of Ezekiel and the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37). When the Lord asked Ezekiel if the bones could live, he replied, "O Sovereign Lord, You alone know."

As Ezekiel followed the Lord's instructions to prophecy life into those bones what speaks to me is the creative miracle that transpired in front of his eyes.

"I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them.." (v. 8). What had not existed mere seconds before (tendons and flesh) suddenly appeared on the bones (the framework). The tendons and flesh gave substance to each lifeless body.

What happened next is phenomenal in and of itself. The Lord instructed Ezekiel to speak to the breath - calling it from the from the four winds - calling it to breathe on "these slain that they may live."

Like the bones and like the dry lake beds, sometimes we find our dreams, and maybe our hearts, dry and lifeless. But we are not without hope. The dry bones are the framework of our dreams. They give testimony to the fact that something is there - something has potential. The tendons and flesh are what God pulls together to give our destiny substance. They make it real and tangible, giving it a shape and a face.

But until we learn to call forth the breath of life from the four winds and prophesy life into our own destiny, it will remain lifeless and unused. It will resemble an active destiny, but it will remain an empty shell. Only when we fully believe the purpose of our destiny will we speak it into existence - speaking the word of the Lord and calling life into our dreams and our destinies.

A young father and his daughter just passed by on their bicycles. As they rode by, the dad looked down at the lake bed. He pointed out to his daughter, "Hey, there's water down there again."

I take a closer look. It is true. There is water down there again.

A smile emerges across my face.

Ponderings from Near the Altar

Fire on the Altar | March 4, 2012

Fifty hours of non-stop worship and intercession. Thousands of participants. It is the reality that prevailed in Austin this weekend. And I was there, even if but for a few brief hours.

I entered a filled sanctuary and found a spot in the back where I could easily sit, stand, kneel, sway, lay - whatever I felt so inclined to do - without disturbing anyone else.

Here is a brief excerpt from my journal from today:

As I sit on the floor against a back wall, what overwhelms me is the simple and beautiful truth that someone like me - like any one of us -  can walk directly into a place like this where the Holy of Holies is manifest here and now.

No longer is this sweet place reserved only for certain individuals who have met certain criteria. The tangible, aromatic, holy presence of the Almighty is here for all of us. I cannot wrap my head around this, yet I know it to be true, as I am experiencing it even in this moment.

There was a time when someone like me could only get so close to His presence, then someone else would have to go in my behalf. Now, because Jesus has already paid my way in, here I am, sitting at His feet, gazing on His beautiful face. Here I sit - overwhelmed.

"Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High  

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty."

Psalm 91:1

What interests me about this is that I wrote this within just a few minutes of entering the sanctuary. The word aromatic came to me very strongly. Hours later, during a spontaneous song, the lyrics that were coming were something like, 

"I am no longer my own

I am Your garden

Enter Your garden, Lord."

As this was being sung, I began to smell the unmistakable fragrance of roses. At first I thought perhaps someone near me had opened a bottle of rose-scented essential or anointing oil. But as I looked around, I saw that no one was within twenty feet or more of me. I closed my eyes and inhaled. It was undeniable.If a fragrance can be "warm" this one was. It is a word I have often used to describe a physical aroma that sometimes accompanies the presence of God. This time it was the fragrance of roses, appropriately made manifest while we were singing about being His garden. 

I love His presence. Every aspect of it.

More, Lord. More and more and more until ...