like the leaves falling from the trees
Like the leaves falling gently from the trees to the ground, the last few days I've had memories fall gently into my lap as I've been organizing our home office. I have a file simply named Pray! and it's in no particular order other than it holds teachings and words on prayer that people have given me that have really spoken to me.
I came across one given to me on my birthday in 2004, a prophetic word on mercy written by Catherine Brown who hails from Scotland. As I'm reading this, I'm simultaneously checking my email and see one pop up from my mom. We've been following the fires in San Diego, partly to see if my grandparent's home in Rancho Bernardo is still standing. Coincidentally they are also Scottish and their last name is also Brown. Brown being a rare name like Smith.
As I read the email, I learn that nothing on Fernardo Drive where they lived has been affected by the fires of Witch Creek. She echoes my relief, that even though they are both in heaven and have been for several years, there is comfort in knowing their dear home is still there. (The picture below is of my grandparents in their backyard.)
As a child going to visit their home in the rolling hills and valleys outside of Escondido, nothing could have been more glamorous or exciting to me, coming from the sidewalks of Springfield. The kumquat trees around their pool, the panaromic view of mountains from every side, the rides in Grandpa's golf cart around the curving neighborhood streets. On many occasions we would get there to find out Grandma was throwing a party that evening in our honor. It was up to the rest of us to prepare the appetizers and drinks from Vons - which all had to be rushed out and bought because she never had anything more than tofu and Fresca in her fridge.
She meanwhile would spend what seemed to be long hours in her dressing room preparing for her guests, picking out just the right dramatic jewelry or caftan. Or perhaps she would come out dressed for tennis in her Izod whites. Who knew? She was adored by her friends for her quirkiness and known for her costume parties. When she would finally make her entrance, her eyebrows painted on, my grandfather would break away from whoever he was talking to, telling her she looked beautiful as he carried a glass clinking of ice and Scotch.
The last time Steve and I visted them in that home we were newly married, and taking a trip up along the coastline. We sat in the living room as I told him about all the times we would come to visit as children and swim like otters in the midst of hail and lightning winter storms, so eager to be in the pool, knowing it was snowing in Springfield. I can't believe my grandfather allowed it, the same person who would stand on the pier at their home in Ephraim and stay put there as we canoed across to Pebble Beach as children. He was so sure one of us was going to drown.
I'm grateful the home is still standing, even if the occupants are no longer my dearly loved grandparents. My grandmother had a baby grand piano in the living room and we would wake up to her playing and singing hymns, her trilling soprano voice filling the space. She struggled with sadness most of her life and you could hear it in her singing, as she would start one hymn and abruptly stop it, turning pages, searching for something more lively. "That's beautiful, darling," Grandpa would call out from the other room when she finally settled on something. She would laugh and look up at whoever was around over her reading glasses, and wrinkle her nose.
I think about their life, her struggles, and their faithfulness to one another. I knew of my grandfather's great love and compassion for her, and I'm thinking about this as I pick up the article in my hands on mercy. As I read the words, the tears come because you can't know the great mercy of Jesus and not be tearful. At least I can't.
This is taken from that word, the vision the author had of Jesus as she was praying:
"Whilst in prayer recently, I had a beautiful vision of Jesus with manna in His hands. In the vision, one by one, people approached Christ and took a piece of manna from His outstretched palm.
Some ate the manna straightaway and their countenance was instantly transformed; they were just so happy and full of peace and joy! Others put the manna in their pocket, which seemed a strange thing to do.
Those who did not eat the manna straightaway seemed to forget they had received a gift of provision from Christ. Others would not even approach Jesus for the manna. They looked so tired and angry.
Jesus continually held out his hands, desiring to give his children manna. The ones who refused the manna became full of bitterness and a dark cloud covered them. Jesus was brokenhearted over this.
I asked the Lord what the manna meant. He replied, "Child, the manna is my mercy. Mercy is my provision in this hour for my children. There has never been such a need for absolute mercy, because there has never been such a lack of mercy in the world and even in my church.
To lack mercy is to walk in the spirit of the world. I have given my grace to the church, that in faith my bride may be robed in mercy. Mercy is your strong tower in times of trouble. Mercy washes away all roots of hatred and bitterness. My mercy redeems the mindset of man."
As the author goes on to talk about mercy, she speaks of commanded love and what she calls 'temporary spiritual amnesia'. Withholding mercy speaks of desiring to inflict punishment on another. To withhold mercy is to place your agenda above the compassion of Christ. Grumbling against one another quickly leads to hardness of heart, and hardness of heart soon leads to the sin of offense.
In offense, we suffer from 'temporary spiritual amnesia' with respect to the wonderful mercy Jesus has poured into us, that we might also pour into others. Offense distracts us from God's Kingdom agenda and 'untreated' offense will consume our hearts with unforgiveness.
I believe Jesus wants to heal His bride and restore her 'mercy memory'! God calls us to be imitators of Christ and to live a life of love. Ephesians 6:1. May His mercy fall on us today like sweet spring rain and bring healing and restoration to all our relationships, beginning first with you Jesus."
I know a lot of those in California who haven't lost homes are living under an ashen sky. I am praying for His mercy to come and wash away the ashes, to bring forth the beauty He is calling out. An oil of gladness to replace mourning. A garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Isaiah 61:3. Make your bride beautiful in mercy, Lord.
I am the bread of life. Your forefathers ate the manna in the desert, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which a man may not eat and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world." John 6: 48-51
I came across one given to me on my birthday in 2004, a prophetic word on mercy written by Catherine Brown who hails from Scotland. As I'm reading this, I'm simultaneously checking my email and see one pop up from my mom. We've been following the fires in San Diego, partly to see if my grandparent's home in Rancho Bernardo is still standing. Coincidentally they are also Scottish and their last name is also Brown. Brown being a rare name like Smith.
As I read the email, I learn that nothing on Fernardo Drive where they lived has been affected by the fires of Witch Creek. She echoes my relief, that even though they are both in heaven and have been for several years, there is comfort in knowing their dear home is still there. (The picture below is of my grandparents in their backyard.)
As a child going to visit their home in the rolling hills and valleys outside of Escondido, nothing could have been more glamorous or exciting to me, coming from the sidewalks of Springfield. The kumquat trees around their pool, the panaromic view of mountains from every side, the rides in Grandpa's golf cart around the curving neighborhood streets. On many occasions we would get there to find out Grandma was throwing a party that evening in our honor. It was up to the rest of us to prepare the appetizers and drinks from Vons - which all had to be rushed out and bought because she never had anything more than tofu and Fresca in her fridge.
She meanwhile would spend what seemed to be long hours in her dressing room preparing for her guests, picking out just the right dramatic jewelry or caftan. Or perhaps she would come out dressed for tennis in her Izod whites. Who knew? She was adored by her friends for her quirkiness and known for her costume parties. When she would finally make her entrance, her eyebrows painted on, my grandfather would break away from whoever he was talking to, telling her she looked beautiful as he carried a glass clinking of ice and Scotch.
The last time Steve and I visted them in that home we were newly married, and taking a trip up along the coastline. We sat in the living room as I told him about all the times we would come to visit as children and swim like otters in the midst of hail and lightning winter storms, so eager to be in the pool, knowing it was snowing in Springfield. I can't believe my grandfather allowed it, the same person who would stand on the pier at their home in Ephraim and stay put there as we canoed across to Pebble Beach as children. He was so sure one of us was going to drown.
I'm grateful the home is still standing, even if the occupants are no longer my dearly loved grandparents. My grandmother had a baby grand piano in the living room and we would wake up to her playing and singing hymns, her trilling soprano voice filling the space. She struggled with sadness most of her life and you could hear it in her singing, as she would start one hymn and abruptly stop it, turning pages, searching for something more lively. "That's beautiful, darling," Grandpa would call out from the other room when she finally settled on something. She would laugh and look up at whoever was around over her reading glasses, and wrinkle her nose.
I think about their life, her struggles, and their faithfulness to one another. I knew of my grandfather's great love and compassion for her, and I'm thinking about this as I pick up the article in my hands on mercy. As I read the words, the tears come because you can't know the great mercy of Jesus and not be tearful. At least I can't.
This is taken from that word, the vision the author had of Jesus as she was praying:
"Whilst in prayer recently, I had a beautiful vision of Jesus with manna in His hands. In the vision, one by one, people approached Christ and took a piece of manna from His outstretched palm.
Some ate the manna straightaway and their countenance was instantly transformed; they were just so happy and full of peace and joy! Others put the manna in their pocket, which seemed a strange thing to do.
Those who did not eat the manna straightaway seemed to forget they had received a gift of provision from Christ. Others would not even approach Jesus for the manna. They looked so tired and angry.
Jesus continually held out his hands, desiring to give his children manna. The ones who refused the manna became full of bitterness and a dark cloud covered them. Jesus was brokenhearted over this.
I asked the Lord what the manna meant. He replied, "Child, the manna is my mercy. Mercy is my provision in this hour for my children. There has never been such a need for absolute mercy, because there has never been such a lack of mercy in the world and even in my church.
To lack mercy is to walk in the spirit of the world. I have given my grace to the church, that in faith my bride may be robed in mercy. Mercy is your strong tower in times of trouble. Mercy washes away all roots of hatred and bitterness. My mercy redeems the mindset of man."
As the author goes on to talk about mercy, she speaks of commanded love and what she calls 'temporary spiritual amnesia'. Withholding mercy speaks of desiring to inflict punishment on another. To withhold mercy is to place your agenda above the compassion of Christ. Grumbling against one another quickly leads to hardness of heart, and hardness of heart soon leads to the sin of offense.
In offense, we suffer from 'temporary spiritual amnesia' with respect to the wonderful mercy Jesus has poured into us, that we might also pour into others. Offense distracts us from God's Kingdom agenda and 'untreated' offense will consume our hearts with unforgiveness.
I believe Jesus wants to heal His bride and restore her 'mercy memory'! God calls us to be imitators of Christ and to live a life of love. Ephesians 6:1. May His mercy fall on us today like sweet spring rain and bring healing and restoration to all our relationships, beginning first with you Jesus."
I know a lot of those in California who haven't lost homes are living under an ashen sky. I am praying for His mercy to come and wash away the ashes, to bring forth the beauty He is calling out. An oil of gladness to replace mourning. A garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Isaiah 61:3. Make your bride beautiful in mercy, Lord.
I am the bread of life. Your forefathers ate the manna in the desert, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which a man may not eat and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world." John 6: 48-51