gone

and now i see that it was already near the boiling point before we even drove away:

they said they were excited about our impending absence, for the vacation from our care
he said he couldn't stand to see one more drunk person swagger into the yard and endanger his sobriety (might make him do something he'd get jailed for)
she returned the pajamas to me that she'd been borrowing since day one (as if she knew she'd be gone soon?)
they were not coming to evening prayer and when they did they were no longer thanking God for another day sober
they were tottering on the edge
they had relapsed before they even drank or used

it shouldn't be shocking, then, to come home to 4 of our 7 resident friends gone
literally at times, but always metaphorically
gone
checked out
checked into the dark side they'd been dragged from just months earlier
(out of the darkness and into His glorious light)

it says these are the ones it's impossible to bring back to repentance --
who have once been enlightened
who have tasted the heavenly gift
who have shared the Holy Spirit
who have tasted the goodness of the Word of God

do you hear the nails pounding and the stifled moaning of a Jesus re-crucified? (Heb 6:4-6)
our Holy Spirit grieves

so i had KFC with her, remind her who she really is, who He really is and
then, ultimately drove her with her bag to Jules' house because
when life and death were set before her
she did not choose life

so i came home from work today to find him surrounded by us
and a sober and weighty silence that tells me it is over
when the man in the blue sweatshirt drives him away from here because
when life and death were set before him
he teetered too long on the fence and a decision was made for him

Highlights from KC

The core community (interns, abbot, abbess, a few friends) of the SBR make the trek down to Kansas City on Memorial Day weekend for a Boiler Room Gathering. Over 150 people from Boiler Rooms and Prayer Communities across the country assembled to fellowship, worship, learn, network, pray, and encourage. Some of the leaders of the 24-7 Prayer movement and Boiler Room communities were present to disseminate information and inspiration. People like Adam Cox, Joe Steinke, Friar Jon Peterson, and David Blackwell especially impacted me this weekend.

I want to spend a little space writing some notes about what was taught, as well as what the Lord communicated to our community about next steps.

First, the teaching....

Prayer. Mission. Justice.
Loving God. Loving Others. Loving the World.
[These are the core values of Boiler Room communities].

Boiler Rooms are geographically specific, Jesus-centered, missional communities. They center on friends dreaming and praying together. Being friends is the first major assumption here. Friendships develop over a season of shared hearts and experiences. Friendships with each other and with Jesus create a container into which God pours His dreams. Our job is to make our friendships good soil to receive the seeds of God's vision. This idea of hearts married together in enduring friendship (community) reads romantically, but lives sacrificially. It is, however, how Jesus changed the world. He showed the world the gospel by spending 70% of his time with the same 12 people in highly intentional, life-on-life relationships that imparted the DNA of the Kingdom to them all. He then commanded them to scatter and do likewise. Friendships.

The point is to depart from the old model of "vision + task = relationship." Instead, to start with relationship. Who you're called to be family with is just as important as what you are called to do. And what you are called to do can be the collective dream of your family of friends. Then everyone buys in and takes ownership. The work of a boiler room is as unique and dynamic as the relationships among the core community. Long after vision dies out and tasks normalize, relationship endures. In fact, when a dream or vision dies, God is probably up to something bigger and better. You go back to the relationships (with Jesus and each other) and to prayer to find out what that next thing is. It is important to ask: If we lost all of our work today, would we survive? If we lost our building today, would we survive? Just like church, it is not the form, but the people that make it what it is. We are joined together to become a dwelling place of God!

Discipleship is the primary task. Every person who comes in should feel equipped and ready to pour into a few others as disciples. No one just watches, everyone is a participant. Disciples are those who know Jesus and live according to His teaching. The Kansas City Boiler Room uses D-groups (small scripture-reading accountability groups that are always reproducing), Collectives (like-minded, subcultural groups that take the gospel in a redemptive way to specific populations), and Gatherings (large, celebratory events for empowerment and inspiration) to make disciples. They call this Community in Three Expressions.

It is enough to focus on doing these three things: Love God, Love Each Other, Love the World. Keep coming back to this, over and over again.

Second, the impact on the SBR...

As we sat down to talk among our core community we found that we were all on the same page about a few things:
1. We are not called first and foremost to be a Rehabilitation Center. Though this is the work God has given us to do for the last several months, it is not the reason we exist.
2. We need to spend more time together, deepening friendships so that His dreams can be poured out in us.
3. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. The fact that we haven't experienced this tells us we've drifted off course, that things have become too complicated, that it's time to redirect.
4. The SBR started with prayer and this priority needs to be renewed.

We came home from this adventure with a subtle shifting in consciousness and spirit having occurred among us. We were lighter, more restful, less desperate and grasping. I think we were reminded of who we really are. As if to confirm and test our new conclusions, we arrived home and within a week all but 2 of our 7 residents have left us, and we did not chase them down with elaborate pleas to come back home. We are being stripped back to the core. I think that this is good.

Our work will be changing, I believe. It may be less centered on providing housing and rehabilitation. We might take up prayer-walking again, as well as intentional building of relationships with others in the neighborhood, hopefully moving towards discipleship. I think we'll spend more time on our faces in prayer and in study. Maybe we'll move into embracing creativity and the arts more (writing group, artist potlucks, coffee table books?). I'd like to see us introduce more teaching/preaching into our daily rhythms. I guess we'll also devote some serious intentional energy into loving one another well and drawing out each others' dreams.

There are more tangible plans in the works about which I cannot yet speak openly. Stay tuned.

weeds, debts, and mini vans

black dirt in the indents of my finger prints
neck sored from bending low to discern and then pluck

yes, discern and pluck
the removing of what is sapping nourishment from
among those things that are bent on bearing fruit

this seems metaphorical to me today
because isn't that just what God's doing here in us?
God, make us wise and steady weeders.

------------

God
You owe me nothing
(i owe you my very life)
i release You from
the [false] debts I've been holding You to

i
will drown instead in the extravagance of
the blessings i'm swimming in
and myself as a swan on these waters
of mercy
undeserved

-----
in the angel ship otherwise known as the mini van
something new and precious is hatching
among 7 men and women learning family :
the dance party at a BP gas station and hours of sing-along
the meal sharing and frisbee throwing at rest stops
the foot massages, elbow-knocking, and close-sitting
the reading of bibles and boiler room books
the rhythms of sleeping, chatting, and worshiping
in all of this
there is a knitting going on and
a spirit of adoption spreads between us
carried on this angel ship
on a 12 hour drive home from Kansas City

reoriented heart

You, Lord, have reoriented my heart
i now want what you want (which is You)
i am attracted to men who are Your heart (clothed in skin)
who have known you, walk with you,
are tuned to the frequency of You voice

so maybe it's You i'm attracted to,
You i'm in love with
in them, too
as I already am with You, directly
so that even in romance
i am still only in love with You, Jesus

this is good news
this is evidence of how You
make me new
re-order my desires
woo me

You have shown me by Your love and delight
that i am worthy of and cut out for
the love of a Jesus-infused man

the love story is, from beginning to end, Yours.
it's about You and me.
the human man i will one day share my body, heart, ministry and home with
is not primarily the point

i see. i get it.
it's good.

prayer fly

after evening prayer where he was healed
he said we were like prayer flies
descending on him and covering him
with truth and love and the power from on high
(which is, of course, the laying on of hands)

though i never thought i'd be delighted to be called a fly, i am now.
prayer fly.

ode to a kitchen

i like this kitchen and the light
it lets itself in from two sides
north and west so
evening or late afternoon is especially lovely
with a journal or laptop, writing, plus snacking

in the mornings with cup of coffee
(with coconut milk and stevia these days)
and those quiet thought-gathering moments
before the scribbled schedule on the counter
turns into the actuality of the day

or the conversations had in the late nights,
all of us pajama-ed and
huddled in the kitchen with
midnight munchies and touch-base talk
because marie is asleep in what
used to be the living room and
we oughtn't wake her

bicycle girl

i've taken to riding this antiquated black bicycle
alone around the west side in the evening
it is questioning, wondering, whispering time
it is rhythmic contemplation and
it is prayer bicycling
(for that single mom pushing stroller or
that elderly black man smoking on sidewalk)

plus, i think it is romantic -
bicycling on an old-time schwinn
wearing a summer skirt and
pretending to be green
so i pedal through these parts and
wonder if i could make myself into
That Bicycle Girl -- the slightly quirky
and definitely locally legendary one
on this bicycle on the west side

maybe God might change things here
as the prayers spread out from my wake
and maybe my thighs will change, too
to something slimmed and strong

her leaving

asking her to go was not easy. i hope no one will think that it was.
i hope no one will mistakenly believe that we were simply tired in our flesh, that we were impatient, dogmatic, or mistaken.
you see, we wrestled, we had no peace, we took it to the Lord and demanded revelation that would restore unity.
He was faithful and with spiritual eyes we saw something quite different than what things appeared to be on the surface. what we saw was the work of an enemy and that enemy, we realized, had no place taking up residence in our midst.
problem is that enemy was coming in riding on the back of a precious girl. a precious, broken lamb of God. who also was in bondage to this thing on her back and not yet willing to fight for freedom. who also told a lot of lies.
this came out at the last. we saw clearly.
and then we (i) wept. those were the only words.
now, i see that the words for it are this: violated, betrayed, taken for a ride, disappointed, grieved, foolish, naive, drained. all of this.
i think we'll be a little wiser. i think He's had some things to teach us about discernment, wisdom, sin issues vs. demonic issues, unity, community, battle, release, deliverance, and prophecy. i think He's still running this show.
i'm sorry for her still. i'm still breaking for her, for them.
His arm is not too short to save.

haven

this has been one of my sources of sanity: riding horses bareback in Fremont, MI with stacey on my sabbaths from the Boiler Room.

i guess most little girls go through a horse stage: they collect horse toys, develop fascinations with ponies and answer the question of "what is your favorite animal?" with "horse!" maybe i never outgrew this faze. i outgrew the outward appearance of it in that i no longer have horse posters plastering my walls and i don't take riding lessons. i certainly no longer pretend to canter around the yard whilst wearing a horse halter (yes, i actually did this with my best friend when we were kids). but i still love them.

horses are therapy to me. they are one of the least complicated and purest joys i have ever known. i think they have always been a shelter to me, even at those times when the atmosphere in my family was like its own war zone. so sitting on our horse's back while mom braided her mane, or spending a week at camp riding all day long every day, or taking a family vacation that centered on riding... these were havens.

so when stacey has me out to her place to climb up on one of her gorgeous, well-trained horses, i relax. i forget the chaos that living in an urban ministry sometimes is. we just wander those dirt roads in collected trots or rolling canters, between trees and streams, and talk with light-hearted pleasure. i come home with sweat and hair-caked pants and a sore butt, but i'm restful. this is a great gift to me.

thank you.

these women

she is the one who speaks tender arrows into souls
in no uncertain terms she voices boundaries and expectations
and invites the rest of us into the shelter of their strength
she is the one who sees the perfection of what could be
and will not be at rest in her spirit until she's stepped closer to it
she is the one who will do the dirty work and
she is the one who will stay in there and fight for you deeply,
even beyond reasonable expectation
she is the one who will melt into the warmth of an afternoon nap
or lose herself in the study of ancient Hebrew or
sing her heart out over broken guitar cords (that are getting smoother daily)

she is the one who has sparkling joy emanating from her eyes

at almost every moment of the day and
her voice flits over you like a butterfly,
depositing stories and images of the heart of God (which is love)
and she is the one who picks up the brush to paint and
out comes something true and pleasing, miraculous
she will bake cakes and write songs all with the humility of
one who doesn't fully know yet how good she really is
she will fly through her full-to-the-brim day
with a tireless enthusiasm that revives our spirits
when the day is long and we are heavy

and i am somewhere in the middle or perhaps a third edge on this triangle
this triangle that is the Stockbridge Boiler Room's Female Interns:
we are Warrior Princesses and Jesus Lovers together,
offering our strength and our tenderness, both
for the kingdom of God to come crashing a bit closer us all
(may He be glorified in us and through us and among us)

we will not rest from this calling
except for the resting He is teaching us to do in Him
which is constant, which is surrender, which is life

breathing wonders

i breathe deeply now
sigh even
with whole lungs
because i'm not afraid to feel now
i never realized
how many years i was holding my breath

----

these are the wonders worth telling:

• marv practices listening prayer now and calls a community meeting based on what he hears
  
• don invites me to his group counseling as his support person
• mary catches cats in a live trap and asks us to take them to the shelter (we do, 7 times and counting)
  
• brad herds my cat back into our apartment when he escapes through the window three times in one day
• april learns that jesus is intimately near and that he speaks
  
• danmike leaves a vase of flowers on the steps to our front door (which were cut from mary's yard)
• sarah settles deeper into her discerning and prophetic gifting (and we are all blessed)
  
• amber calls God "Dad" in prayer and calls us her family
• all of us giggle in 9 o'clock prayer because Jesus just tastes so good ("we kiss you, jesus," sarah prayed)
• i get a bang
  
• a sister is delivered from her food addiction
• brad plays a supernatural worship cello
• the prayer garage is renewed to sacred tabernacle status (come see!)
• marie hears the Holy Spirit and obeys
• a suited business man downtown is seen ushering ducklings off Monroe St. and onto the safety of the sidewalk
  
• bea dresses me up as a princess and invites me to tea
• the roommates have a sleepover party, giggling and gluing (courtesy of a need for stress relief and a bit of Kahlua and cream)
  
• God restores the pathways between our houses and unity in our hearts (i love you interns!)
  
• frank's son becomes published author of a darling children's book
  
• i share a french press and a chocolate muffin with april and rose at their urban farm
  
• chelsea makes a painted replica of a photograph in two hours flat
• i practice setting boundaries and speaking boldly and truly
• He never gives up (my cup runs over)
  

a detatched blogger

i always thought the way of the artist
(poet, photographer)
was the way of pure presence
sinking down into sensual attentiveness
to nuance and detail
light and color and layer
then turning it into metaphor or imagery
a special kind of truth

but now, fully present
i find the poetry fading and
images getting stale or half-done
because the artist's way --
for all its intensity of feeling --
is detached observation and
feelings about feelings, a step removed

it is harder to write about it when
it's just your life
it invades every corner of your apartment, heart, and schedule
it's too close to be poetically observed
i write about it best when i'm away
it re-inhabits its place of surreal beauty in my holy imagination
when i'm away

(this is why i've been blogging less, i think)

--

now that i know her; know them all
they aren't characters for writing
they are my arms and lips and hair
(the parts of this body i am a part of)
they can't be told
(i was much better at writing about them
and photographing the SBR when I didn't live here;
when it wasn't ME)

He's still here

where to begin? He's faithful; that's the first thing. He's still here.

we've done hard work this week, i think. as Chip prayed, "i can't tell how many tears have been poured out in this room this week, God." i suspect that if the theme of my own prayer week is an indicator of what it's been like for others (and this is often the case), a lot of those tears have been spilled while contending with the Almighty and facing our "uglies". tonight in prayer -- the closing hour of our 24/7 Prayer week -- i saw us all as those standing just at the other end of a narrow and treacherous tunnel, through which we have just fumbled (or were we carried?), and now we're standing on the other side, in an abundant space.

we had been praying thematically this week about healing for our community and we were led into answers and clarity about that, though not entirely in the form any of us were anticipating. but where I thought He had turned His face and was silent towards us, as it turns out He was speaking a clear word, only it was a whisper. it was a beckoning into contrition and repentance. He gave me and Sarah both visions of our core group on the floor confessing to one another this week during prayer and confirmed it through words given to a few others among us... and then He gently guided us, preparing our hearts, through each step of the journey. and that vision came to pass.

i don't know how to tell it all. it included private contending, one-on-one confession, orchestrated conversations of reconciliation, publicly confessed sin, sins written down and nailed to a cross (open-faced, not folded), and relationships and ailments prayed over with spiritual authority (rebuking, declaring; binding, loosing). it was a weighty week. God did some good work.

and then He showed us James 5:16 -- "therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another so that you may be healed." the confession, as it turns out, was the answer to the prayers for healing. and the healing was for us -- the core community -- before it was for our neighbors.

that's the communal telling. the private telling is about me and that disappointment with God for that withering vision i mentioned in my last post. He showed me how out of my disappointment and disillusionment I had fallen into sinful responses -- resentment, grudge-holding, and exclusion and punishment of those who did not deserve to bear the weight of my pain. also, how I started to second-guess my ability to hear His voice and to question His heart towards me. this week, laying on the prayer room floor crying out to Him, He moved things in me. He moved me to repent in Chelsea's presence and receive her prayer over me. He moved me to break soul ties where they had inappropriately been formed. and in doing these things, He's moved me into freedom again. I still don't "get" it all, but I can see His leadership again and I know it as trustworthy because I've stepped out in obedience on what He's revealed. this is what I'm praising Him for this week.

He never left. He's still here.
"I will sing His praises in the land of the living."

i'm still here

"your blog has changed so much," she said and then explained, "i feel like it isn't about you anymore."

true in a sense. it's about this Bigger Thing i'm now a piece of and about this Bigger Than Myself God that i'm so enamored with so maybe the part that is only me has become lost in the fray.

"you don't have to be super christian," he said and then explained, "it's okay to be not okay."

if this is true -- and of course it is -- than I will put it out there:

this is about me. this is about me not being "okay":

• this is about my disappointment with God because a dream i believe He planted in me is showing absolutely zero sign of coming to fruition, leaving me to wonder if i only misunderstood Him, or put words in His mouth or... worst option of all i wonder if maybe He's playing games with my heart or playing some sort of divine joke on me.
• this is about the fact that because of that disappointment i have stopped trusting His heart towards me and so His voice is hard to hear these days. has he turned his face away?
  
• this is about SBR life being romantic no longer. it is no longer glamorous to live day in and day out in an inescapable and all-consumming way in a community of 20 very different people whose only commonality is a love for Jesus. no, it is gritty and messy and downright inconvenient. (note to self: read Life Together by Bonhoffer).
• this is about my weariness of mind, body and soul that is so complete i am reduced to near-tears daily.
• this is about the stubborn, die-hard attitudes in my heart that i feel unwilling and/or unable to release and repent of.
• this is about the fact that i quite frankly don't like to share and yet right now my whole life is sharing -- the food in the fridge, the shoes on my feet, the blankets in my linen supply, my bath towels and shampoo, and the car that i drive.
• this is about me having to change my blog web address because someone who is supposed to love me and want the best for me was reading it and sending me abusive emails in response to my writing. this is grievous.

so. there it is.
i'm still here. and still very human.

i will praise Him still. (i'll not give into the urge to tie this all up tidily with a pretty bow).

today was my sabbath day but a lot happened whilst I was away. namely, two teenage women have come to us and are currently asleep on a make-shift bed of blankets on the other side of the wall against which my headboard leans. they have been three months roughing it on the streets, the adults who were supposed to protect them having proven incapable or unavailable and so...

so they are here, by an arrangement of the Most High God, we're sure. you see, we listened for His voice about it and what we got was joy and a reminder of Isaiah 54 prophesied over our community. we took this as a good sign. and then when they came, seated on our couch and eating chicken salad sandwiches, they were nearly speechless with peaceful happiness at having somehow landed in our midst.

so one will be here with us indefinitely and the other (pregnant) will go back with her foster family, though i suspect she'll come around a fair amount, to play the guitar and paint a picture.

April 2008 Photos

contend

bearing the name of Israel,
i come to contend with the Almighty
on the sprung greenness of spring flowers
covering espresso black earth
where there is wide open space and
this voice can rise to heaven and
through those still-sparsely-leaved branches
bear some chance of being heard
i will wrestle with Him
(bless me, i will not let go)

camera always in hand, i take a picture
of my own bared face as i am crying
so that i can perhaps feel some compassion for
the tender spirit behind those sad green eyes

here my joy and my grief are intersecting:
the one dream (private) is dying (for now)
while the other one (i didn't know i had it in me)
is vibrantly alive, it fills my lungs

i hold the tension of their co-existance
while tears of joy and sorrow flow mingled down

He sees me
He has heard my complaint
my wrestling has not been in vain
i trust