Barbie Loflin

1 Samuel 23:23
Find out about all the hiding places he uses and come back to me with definite information.

It is a funny thing, this need to hide ourselves from others.

I sat this morning pondering an email I had gotten from a close friend.You know the kind of friend that speaks honestly and you have to receive it because you know it is done in love.In the email I had been admonished to expand my borders… come out of my comfort zone.My initial response was not pretty.It is amazing how quickly you can send a letter across wires and airspace.Unfortunately, that same technology prohibits the withdrawal of said letter once you have come to your senses.Anyway, I digress… I sent off the letter pointing out all of the ways I have expanded my borders and stepped out of my comfort zone… I will give you a brief glimpse into the letter…

“I have broadened my comfort zone about all I can handle this year.I have actually been nice to people I do not know, and opened my home to those who openly dislike me.I have prayed for those who curse me (as they curse me…), sat patiently (without interrupting) through dissertations on all of my faults – as viewed by whomever was speaking at the time (waiting until I was alone with my Father before exposing the gaping wounds).I have scrubbed toilets at Wherry, cleaned the hair of strangers out of bathtubs I would never bathe in, painted nurseries, rocked babies, been spit up on, provided taxi service to those who needed a ride to church, and even spent time under the pews seeking God for His heart concerning this body you seem tothink I hide from…I have cried with the mourners, rejoiced with the giddy …I have run screaming from my comfort zone this year,- feet set on fire-just because He called me out of it.My pegs have been lengthened, my chords strengthened.If youhave seen me in my comfort zone of late, it is a most rare glimpse you have caught – kind of like a sighting of Bigfoot or the Loch ness Monster.People say these things exist, but I am not so sure…”

As you can see, I was not having one of my better moments.As I recited my perceived accomplishments, typing faster than my sane fingers normally move, smoke lifting from the keyboard as I put on paper what I would not have voiced aloud, I paid no attention to the still small voice that whispered through my spirit.The Spirit’s words moved though me like a wind that twists through the trees… soft, gentle, but somehow beautifully disruptive.Typing faster and louder to drown out the Spirit wind, I stopped only when the send button clicked off in my ears, a resounding Uh-Oh echoing in the pit of my stomach.

I knew that somewhere in cyberspace a mouthy redhead had gone over the edge, and soon a friend would be forced (by her words) to tread that edge with her.

Proverbs 18:2
Fools care nothing for thoughtful discourse; all they do is run off at the mouth.

My office silent, I stared at the screen before me.The Wind-Word flowed through me again.Rustling my branches… A small risk…You know I want more… AAAAHHH!Stop it!Whistle, sing, clog… just don’t listen to the wind. (Fingers in the ears do nothing to stop the inner voice)La la la la – la la la la (most effective when done to the tune of the Twilight Zone).Shuffle the paper on the desk, make as much noise as possible. You know I want more… I distinctly hear Charlie Brown’s yell as Lucy pulls the football away and sends him flying.I picture myself laying on my back in the grass, staring at the sky… my posterior bruised, my ego tattered, contemplating the same questions he must have posed, Am I really here again?

I am not an unfriendly sort; I am more the “I like my space” sort.I can stand in front of a thousand people and talk about Jesus and never give it a second thought.But put me in a room with three people and ask me to sit down and talk, my mouth goes dry, my stomach knots, andthe spirit of Lance Armstrong overtakes me and I start looking for a bicycle.

I remember one particular instance where my friend Mary and I were asked to attend a class in Nashville one evening.I was fine with it until we walked into this room full of nice people who actually wanted to speak to me.I practically sat in Mary’s lap trying to find my com

fort zone. I had almost started to breathe normally when the leader said, “Let’s break up into groups of four… do not stay with the people you came with.”

The room spun.

I am quite certain the fingernail scars on Mary’s arm will one day heal, but let’s just say I went reluctantly.My group of four was about halfway up toward the front of the room, and Mary’s was in the back.While I did my best to participate in the group, I found that my one syllable monotone answers did not contribute much to the discussion format.I also found out that nervously rocking your foot back and forth with great fury can actually move your chairacross the floor to the back of the room without ever having to stand, and can eventually put you smack dab in the middle of the group you wanted to be with in the first place.

Anyway… let’s just say this mountain has been one I have hidden behind before.

Please do not misunderstand me.I truly do love people.I try not to sit in judgment, or walk in criticism of others.I know how weak I am, and I recognize my own frailties to the point that I would never want to walk mercilessly through life.It is probably that very recognition of self that makes me want to run from intimate encounters.

What some may perceive to be arrogance is, nine times out of ten, insecurity.We are so afraid of letting someone get to know u

s.We reject others before they get a chance to reject us.We have this tape that runs though our minds telling us, don’t open up… you will get hurt… you will be judged.Unfortunately, many times that is true.You do get hurt.But loving is worth the risk.

What if Jesus had withheld His heart, but gone to the cross out of duty?What if He had done what He had to do, but never touched the lives of the people?What if He had sat down during His forty day fast that preceded His ministry, and said Okay, Father, I will do what you’ve asked me to do.I will fully PERFORM my duties, but I will not love them because You and I both know they are going to break my heart.

Can you imagine the absurdity of a life spent in duty and service without love?Can you imagine Jesus lifting Mary Magdalene from the dirt and briskly saying… “You’re forgiven.Don’t do it anymore,” and turning His back on her hearts greatest need, love manifested?It’s called performance without love, duty without passion. We do it every day.

So, how do we make the decision to live in this land called Vulnerable?The answer may sound way too simple, but when I pray about this very issue in my own life I hear Him say “Trust Me.” (… And Lucy places the football on the ground, holding it with one finger… the c

hallenge clear in her laughing eyes…) Unfortunately, my response to the Father is usually the same…Trust You?Lord, You know I trust You.It’s everyone else I have a problem with…His gentle rebuke is the same… Trust Me.

I may not be the smartest of women, but I know full well what He is saying with those two words.“Trust Me” in God-speak, is followed by the unmistakable words even when it hurts.I originally thought the phrase was if it hurts, but I am quite positive the word is when.It is inevitable.Hearts without walls are subject to the occasional arrow.

I have come to one wall shattering conclusion.My issues with people have everything to do with my trust in Him.Can you say OUCH! Hallelujah!If I trust Him and His plan for my life, I can love you in spite of the risk to myself.Self… oh, here we go…

Job 13:15 “Though He slay me, yet, will I trust in Him…, “(KJV)

Back to self …

Genesis 3:10
And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.

We have had the same problem for thousands of years.We see our nakedness and we hide.We see our own vulnerabilities and we jump behind the nearest fig tree.The only problem is, we now do it because of man instead of God.If I let you see my scars, will they be all you see?If the pedestal wobbles, and we topple to the ground, will there be hands that extend to help us up, or laughter that judges?

We all walk these roads.We all ponder these things in our hearts.We fight the urge to open up and draw close to another human being, by denying our need to do so.We do exactly what I did when I heard the Wind-Word shifting and turning in my own spirit… we put our hands over our hearts and begin to dance a dance borne of duty instead of joy.We dance and perform with tears streaming down our spirits.We sing a silent song of desperation as our hearts pound within us.We deny our need for contact by performing to the point of exhaustion.We numb ourselves by doing the right thing for all the wrong reasons.We have become much like Pinocchio, our arms attached to strings of fear; we dance about, silly smiles painted on our faces, when the cry of our heart is… I want to be real…

I want to be real.But what does that mean?The best definition I came up with was “Not fake… without the commitment of fraud.”Can we go there?Can we be who we are without fear?My answer is (Sorry) No.I know the Scriptures say that perfect love casts out fear, but I am not there yet.I am not so sure I will ever get there on this planet.It is going to take a lot of “perfected love” for me to live without fear of letting down my walls.However, that does not mean I will not let them down.I will just have to do it afraid.

I can choose to put myself on that limb if I know the limb is where He wants me to be.

Matthew 25:28“”Take the thousand and give it to the one who risked the most. And get rid of this “play-it-safe” who won’t go out on a limb.

So, here I am once again, lying in the grass, the football nowhere to be seen.I can lay here fore a while and contemplate, but I do not like ants and various critters taking liberties with my being.Nor do I like the feeling of my skin being parched by the sun.If I stay here much longer I will be red faced and thoroughly chewed up (SELAH).So, I have a choice to make,the question streaks across the sky like a Lobster Shack advertisement at the beach…DO I RISK IT?….. DO I RISK IT? Do I run at this relationship thing full force and take the risk of never even making a connection?Do I move to the land of Vulnerable and pitch my tent on the banks of the River Available?I mean, this letting-people-into-our-lives business can be extremely scary.It means making phone calls I do not want to make, babysitting when I would rather not, listening when I would rather talk, and being teachable when I think I know it all.It means forgiving when I want to hide and lick my wounds.Do I really want to live there again?

I ponder a moment longer, searching the clouds above.In my minds eye I see friends sitting at my table laughing with me.I see Christine standing by my bedside holding Katie in her arms for the first time, bringing me chocolate… just because; I see Dawn standing by the piano, smiling at me, tears in her eyes, as she patiently listens to another one of my trial tunes… just because; I see Anna literally taking the shirt off her back (she had two on at the time) and loaning it to my nine year old daughter so she can wear it to school the next day, …just becauseThen it hits me, all of these just becauses, all of these blessings in my life, they came at a cost, and the cost was being willing to take the risk.They put themselves out there and took the risk of sharing their lives with me.I am blessed because of it.They made the decision that the reward outweighed the fear and that God-relationships were worth it.They Trusted Him and let me in.

I know the answer now.The Wind Word has completed His beautiful disruption, leaving me with the assurance that the risk is His, and love is always worth it.

I hear the faint cry of the commander of an ant army… “Over here!”Followed by the sound of ant feet running through the grass.I have to get up.I rub my eyes and glance one last time into the sky above me.There, upon the cool blue canvas, billowy white clouds shift and roll with the wind. I watch as they take on the fluffy but distinct form of (yes, you guessed it) a football.

Somewhere in the deep laughing part of my spirit, I hear His voice laced with humor say… Trust me?

Matthew 9:21
… Then he reassured her: “Courage, daughter. You took a risk of faith, and now you’re well.”

Many years ago I went to my daughters school to have lunch with her. As I sat in the hallway waiting for her class to appear, I watched the children make their way through the cavernous hallways.

Single file…

Mouths tightly shut…

The familiar clip, clip of the teacher’s heels pounding on the tiled floors. As they filed past I began to absently hum… all in all it’s just another brick in the wall. (Oops. Flashback. Pink Floyd… where did that come from?)

When the next class came up the hallway, I watched as they marched silently, single file, close enough to the wall the keep the corridor clear. Hands clutching little metal lunch boxes, I began to sing… O EEE oh, O EEE Oh… (Think Wizard of Oz )

The third class started around the corner, hands by their sides, stepping in unison, silence and order reigned… until I saw him.

Yes, you could not miss him.

As he rounded the corner the single file line took on new life. Arms flailing, hips moving to some unknown beat, the little boy danced his way down the corridor; everyone around him acting as if he did not exist. As he danced, I sang , “Celebrate good times. Come on… it’s a celebration…” (Yes, still a child of the 70’s) I made it to the second “celebrate” before our mental music came to a screeching halt (add sound effects). Then came the voice. You know the voice. It is the voice that has told you all of your life that you must conform. Grating like fingernails on a chalkboard it scrapes through the spirit, leaving painful divits in the soul (wow – that was intense).

From somewhere down the hall, just around the corner, I hear its weight shifting from burdened grown up, to carefree boy… the voice bellows… “That will be just about enough out of you! You will now have a SILENT LUNCH!(now picture the special effect echo…)… silent lunch… silent lunch…. And in the recesses of my mind I clearly saw a spindly green hand extend, bony finger pointing as the words “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog too!” echoed through the corridor.

A hush fell, accusing eyes darted toward the child who had dared break the rule. Dancing! He was dancing in the middle of a school! How dare he?!

The dancing stopped. The little boy moved obediently into line, following the same ordinary and expected path as everyone else, and head bowed, went into the cafeteria, where he would now partake of his SILENT LUNCH. Order was restored once again to the halls, joy and individuality had been dealt with… all was well.

I mean, I felt the little dude’s pain. I thought about the many (and I do mean many) times Mrs. Margaret Bunch would sneak up behind me during nap time and swat my backside with that paddle just because I had something very urgent to tell the person asleep on the mat next to mine. I mean, had it not been for this strong gifting of superfluous conversation that God has given me, I might have been truly scarred!

What’s my point? Oh, I don’t know. Why does everything have to have a point? Sometimes you just want to talk about things… get them off your chest.

Oh, well, the point is this:
There will be many times in your life – if you love God with all of your heart – that you will absolutely dance to the beat of a different drum. You will hear music that no one else hears; feel a lightness in your step that propels you to dance instead of march. And when you feel His music… MOVE.

What about the opposite side of the coin?

Have you ever been the person to condemn someone to a silent lunch? I have. I used to mentally scream silent lunch! every time a guy at church got on my nerves with his outbursts. When the dancers filled the isle to the point that I could not see the platform, I was screaming silent lunch!

When the worship pastor would start teaching definitions of praise terms…please silent lunch! You get the picture. But what I was effectively doing is this…

2 Sam 6:20-23 When David returned home to bless his household, Michal daughter of Saul came out to meet him and said, “How the king of Israel has distinguished himself today, disrobing in the sight of the slave girls of his servants as any vulgar fellow would!”

Let me tell you something, what I had effectively done when I chose to hold others to my standard of worship… to say that it must be done this way and no other… was to render myself spiritually barren… 23 And Michal daughter of Saul had no children to the day of her death.

David’s response to Michal should challenge us to go further in our worship, and rebuke us for judging the worship of others.

21 I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes.

I wish we could all get that into our spirit. When someone close to you demands your silent lunch, I would love to see those eyebrows raise, and hear you say…

Oh really?

Just before you start your snoopy dance.

God is calling His children closer to Himself.

I know this, not because someone told me, but because I am experiencing it my own life.I used to think that God just wanted me to be good.Now I know He just wants me close to Him.Period. The rest will take care of itself.

It would be great to be good enough to approach Him, but if we wait for that… well, it just isn’t going to happen.I keep thinking, if I could work out the whole perfection thing…, but both He and I know that is not going to happen on this side of eternity.So, what we have covenanted to do in the interim is to stay as close to one another as possible.From here to eternity, so to speak.

He is staying as close as I will let Him.

I am staying as close as my disobedient flesh will allow.

I pray every day for more of Him and less of me, then stand amazed when a fiery trial comes along that burns away a tad of flesh.Indignant, I turn accusing eyes to Him.

“What’s going on here, God?”I ask in my most perplexed voice.

“You asked for more of Me and less of you…”

“Yeah, but you never said it would hurt!”

“Oh really?Have you heard of Peter?”

(I Peter 4:12 to be exact… ¹²Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you.)

“Okay, but can I have more of You without less of me?I mean, I can make lots of room for you.”

“No, Child.You really are too full of yourself…”

“Ouch! That hurt!”

…do not be surprised

And the perfecting process goes on…

Sometimes the most frustrating thing in the world can be trying to forget the past. We remember old wounds and unkind words quite easily. It is as if with each replaying of the incident, it becomes etched a bit deeper upon our soul. We hit the rewind button, listen to the whispers of the enemy and fall into the pit of self-pity, crying all the while in our best I-don’t-deserve-this martyrs’ voice, “Why do you not take this from me, Lord? Why must I continue to wallow in these memories?”

As a child I was forever falling out of trees, off of swings, into ditches, off of bicycles. To say I was not the most feminine flower in the garden would be quite accurate. During all of these “adventures” there were inevitable scrapes, cuts and bruises. As I would hobble into my mother’s kitchen, hands clenched over the offended area, the first words from my mother’s mouth were always, “Come here and let me see what has happened.” She would lift me onto the counter and I would open my grimy fingers to reveal the wound. Her next words were “Oh, see, that’s not so bad.” She would take a soft washcloth, run it under warm water and gently cleanse the area. She would then hold the warm cloth against the wound until it started to feel better. Her final act was to apply a healing balm and seal the wound with a bandage to keep out infection. Her instructions were to leave the bandage on and not to keep opening and closing it. The only time that bandage was to be removed was when mama said so. “You keep opening that bandage up and looking at it and it’s gonna get infected.”

I don’t have to tell you where I’m going with this. The first step in the process is always going to be removing our clenched hands from the wound and letting the Father begin the healing process.

Let it Go

You carry a wounded heart in hand,

You’ve done it now for years.

From time to time you take it out,

To mourn and shed your tears.

What should have healed so long ago,

Lays fresh and bleeding still,

For you refuse to lay it down,

Though oft you say you will.

Bound tight by cords of bitterness,

The pain a living thing,

It consumes your days, directs your ways,

Talons in your mind, it clings.

Flashes from your past do play,

You long so to be free,

But, child, you cannot do alone,

What must be done by Me.

Only I can cleanse your mind,

Heal the scars you hide.

Daughter, lay all at My feet.

Forget all you have tried.

Complete and whole, My plan for you,

No ties to wounds of past.

Cease ups and downs, walk stable, sure,

For child, My healing lasts.

Still, one thing will I need of you.

Oh Yes, I’m sure you know.

If I’m to take the hurt away,

You must choose to let it go!

John 15: ⁵”I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing.

When you are joined with Him, the relationship intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant.

Buzz word. Intimate. Intimacy. Spiritual intimacy. It is the word of the moment. The single word that seemingly defines this generation of God-seekers. It is on every flyer, every conference invitation, predominant in the spiritual culture that holds the media and allures the empty masses. The promise of intimacy, even the prospect of intimacy, unfortunately draws people en mass to experiential spirituality, rather than relational Christianity. What is sad is that so many think this is a good thing. Churches full of Seekers must be a good thing, right? Just depends on what they are seeking…and why.

You see, there is a problem with our definition and understanding of intimacy, both culturally and within the church. Intimacy has become an act, a deed, a moment, an experience, when it was designed to be something altogether other. Intimacy is supposed to be life changing, and ongoing. True intimacy is supposed to mark us, take us into the deepest nature of another, create profound familiarity with their ways. And it is that profound familiarity, that knowing of the deepest nature, that we must truly seek with the God of the Universe. Friend, it is so very important that you know intimacy is not created in a moment, but is developed, nurtured, treasured, cared for and cultivated day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Anything less is not intimacy. Intimacy is not an experience, it is a divine sacrament. It is not a conference title, a feeling, or even the amazing rush you have in the altars when all of the right songs get played in the right order and you are moved to shout, sing, dance, cry, or fall out. Intimacy is a private work that should, over time, bear public fruit.

Intimacy, from its inception, is a producer. It is a creator. It is intended to bring something into being. God places within us a desire to be intimate with Him, because He wants fruit to be borne in the earth from that intimacy. The only way we can bear fruit that lasts is through an intimate relationship with Christ over time. Think about it.

Intimacy intertwines.

Intimacy engrafts.

Intimacy links and binds.

Intimacy produces.

We all desire to walk in intimate places with God, but what is that intimacy going to produce in our lives, what will it create? Intimacy has become the goal, with no thought of fruit or creation. We want more of His Presence, greater intimacy with Him, but to what end? So that we can stay the same and just feel good for those blissful few moments when the spiritual temperature of the room changes? So that we can go suddenly spiritual, the tainted life of compromise we were living 24 hours before seemingly benign, as we approach a Holy God with unclean hands and hearts full of mixture? Is that the intimacy we seek? Or do we want to walk in long-term relational intimacy with Him, our lives permanently changed and radically transformed – sanctification, purification, holiness, consecration beginning to finally produce their fragrant fruit in our lives?

You see, in God there is always a greater purpose. Ah, but He knows us so well. He knows we have a tendency to come at things from a what is in it for me perspective. But, so great is His love for us, instead of condemning us for our shallowness, He does something uniquely God – He gives us something that benefits and blesses (intimate moments with all of their incomparable beauty), and in the midst of the blessing he plants the seed of greater purpose; the potential for abundant harvest.

When we come away from the precious habitations, we see the pretty flowers. He sees the seed tucked neatly beneath the soil.

Oh guys, do you see? God births this hunger to be in His presence because He knows the effect His presence should have on us. Understand, dear one, the reasons we give for seeking intimate relationship are completely different from the reasons God has for allowing us that access. We desire relationship so that we are changed. He extends relationship so that the world might be changed. We think intimate, small, and personal. God thinks intimate, global, and universal.

So the next time you feel that hunger in your spirit, that longing to come into an intimate and organic relationship with this God of the Angel Armies, go in thinking bigger. Intimate is not about the King’s Chamber, it is about the King’s Heart. It is about knowing Him on the deepest levels, and caring about the things He cares about. It is about being marked and changed by your ongoing closeness, moved by the things that move Him. It is about the richness of relationship over time.

And that, beloved, is sure to bring abundant harvest.

At the end of last year while studying for a class series, I literally felt myself tap into something in God; somewhat like the nurse who is looking for a workable vein and finally hits it.In a very spiritually visceral sense, I believe that is what took place.I felt something surge in the Spirit when I touched on one simple point, that of hungering for all of God.I began to sense His voice speaking to my inner man and my pulse took flight, as I heard Him whisper through my Spirit… Do you really want to go There?

Yes, God, I automatically responded.But, in my mind, I was thinking… Oh, no you didn’t!You did not just go There!

For, you see, between He and I, There has been painstakingly predetermined.We have been talking about There for quite some time now.It has been a topic of much conversation and the source of plenteous tears.He has known my desire to go There, for it is He who has placed that hunger inside of my heart.There has always been the gravity point, the Bermuda Triangle of deeper spirituality.Some go There never to return, and those who do, well, it is their stories that fly under our Spirit radar and take out the defenses… the ones that protect us from deeper hungers and higher loves.

Let me whet your appetite and stir you just a bit about There. There is a place in Him that consumes the breath and refills the lungs with God-Life.An illusive Atlantis that one speaks of but cannot walk upon, an aroma wafting past the nose, never to be recaptured.There both frustrates and entices.There is a place of intense spiritual intimacy and heart-pounding challenge, a place of more than we dream possible, but have always known exists.There is profound potential and deep grace, churning spiritual waters and personal revelation.There is where He becomes all and we become less… and less is the most glorious of goals.

I know, it makes no sense to the flesh, but oh, in the Spirit, it is a kid-in-the-candy-store kind of arrival.It’s all There, everything God has to offer and I can scarce make a decision as to what to taste first.

Oh, friend, I feel like He is taking me on the journey of a lifetime.I get this sense that I just cannot move fast enough.It is like searching for someone in a game of midnight flashlight tag.You know what you are looking for is just around the next tree, the next corner and your heart races at the thought of that uncharted encounter.

That is where I am at this point and time in my pursuit of There, my pursuit of Him.I know He is There… even though I have found Him here.I know He is calling. I feel an enormous sense of anticipation, a woeful groaning of Spirit laced with joyous pain-song, the highs and lows of searching with full expectation of finding and no time frame of doing so.

God said when we seek Him with our whole hearts, He will be found.Ah and that, yes, that is the challenge, is it not; that whole heart business?For, we know with absolute certainty that all of our heart is not available.There is much heart-space offered to lesser gods and smaller pursuits, mundane and trivial holdings, trite servitude to thief lords, leaving us to seek Him with partial hearts, and find Him in part only.

And now, fellow travelers, we must determine if here is enough, or if There is worth the labor of un-dividing our hearts.

Jesus declared, Believe me woman, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and His worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.
John 4:21-26

Today I am pondering worship.

What actually sent me on this journey was a dream (I know big shock) that brought a quickening revelation to my own heart. For, while I have found my place at His feet for years, I have struggled to explain to people with any type of clarity or accuracy, what worship really means in my life. But the Lord crystallized the heart of a true worshiper for me in one simple yet profound moment.

In this dream I stood on the side of a dusty road that led into Jerusalem. I stood with a crowd of people as they waited on something (or someone). There was a great sense of anticipation and agitated expectancy. They peered down the road, trying to position themselves to see further. Then, from a short distance away I could hear the crowd begin to cheer. It was like the roar of an ocean wave moving in our direction. The words became clearer as they rolled in, “Hosanna!” they cried in their excitement, “Hosanna!”  I realized that (in this dream) I was standing with the crowd as Jesus made His triumphal entry. The shouts continued and rose as the crowd became more jubilant, and many threw their robes and cloaks in the road before Him. Palm branches waved in homage. They shouted in joy, shouted out of emotion, shouted in group camaraderie, shouted as moved by the circumstances, and shouted at His very presence.

Yes, the service was in full motion… Then I heard her.
I heard something other.
I heard a sound that pierced through the rest. It was verdantly sweet and resonated in a way that made it distinct and precious among the cacophony of increasing noise. It possessed a quality, a tone, a knowing, unlike any of the others. Though her words were the same, she sang a different song. It was a singular voice crying out, drenched with tears, and bathed in deep and sorrowful joy.

I watched as this woman threw her ragged cloak at His feet. “Hosanna!” She cried. And her cries rent the atmosphere. “Hosanna!” Her tears wet the earth, each one reverberating beneath my feet, and all I could do was gasp for breath.

And then the dream shifted from the crowd into the very content of her heart. In the depths of the spirit of this woman lay a story, a story of being dragged into the street in her shame and degradation and being forced to stand before the angry, the judging, the religious and pious, who weighed her in the scales and found her wanting. I saw within her heart a story of stones aimed and ready to be released… and then I saw those eyes. Eyes that looked at her with kindness. Eyes that saw her; not what she had done. I saw within her, all that had touched her ears: the anger, the disgust, the names, the threats, the ridicule, the distaste, the condescension, the insults… all repeating what she already believed about herself. Expecting to feel the first stone strike, she heard instead His voice… Let the sinless throw the first stone… and then the sound of stones dropping at the feet of her accusers.  “Woman where are your accusers?” “Lord, I have none…” “Neither do I condemn you…” and in that moment a Hosanna! was born in the heart of one who knew.

And now, I stood beside her understanding why her “Hosanna” was different, why it rang above all of the rest. It came from a heart that had absolutely found its Truth; a heart that resounded with everything she now knew about herself and the Lover of her soul. She did not cry out because everyone else cried out. She did not shout out of emotion or prompted by habit. She did nothing out of the shallows or because it was what she had been taught to do. She cried out from a place of life-altering personal revelation. Her worship was a deep honoring and reverencing of His work in her life. Her worship told her story… and His story. She worshiped from a spirit that acknowledged what she knew… He loved her. He covered her. He had become everything to her. She worshiped Him completely because she knew.

Then I heard a little boy’s voice; it rang with the same truth. His heart relived a time of being thrown into the fire by demons, of seizures and fear, then the voice of a man saying, “I will…” His truth was a life of possession now given way to a life of freedom. His hosanna rang true. He worshiped in spirit and in truth.

What they offered was Tehillah- A spontaneous new song. A song that abides in your heart that only you can give words to. It isa song offered straight to God. She Tehillahed God and Tehillah is the praise that God inhabits. It is your heart song. Tehillah is praise offered from your deepest level of recognized truth, and in that place, God takes up residence.

Only when our worship becomes deeply honest can we enter into the “spirit and truth” that God desires. When we can begin to sing a spontaneous song from a place inside of us that knows- that really knows, then, and only then, do we shift from being a house that has a lot of good singers and talented musicians, and even anointed gifts, to a house that He inhabits. Because if the praise that He inhabits is Tehillah praise (the praise that enthrones Him is our personal, spontaneous, spirit birthed song), then when we get to that place of honesty within ourselves, that pristine acknowledgment of God from our depths, He inhabits. And in that, we become like the woman on the side of the road, whose sound was different from all of the rest.

Oh guys, do you understand that when spirit marries truth, the offspring is a new song, the child is Tehillah worship. Can I tell you something else? You can have great passion and no truth. You can sing louder, run faster, jump higher, shout most radically, run the aisles and never get honest.

Passion does not equal true worship.

You see, Jesus told the woman at the well that a day was coming when it did not matter where you worshiped, but then the intimation of the next sentence often gets brushed past. He said, “You Samaritans worship what you do not know… we worship what we know… for Salvation is from the Jews.” In other words, the day is coming when you too will enter into a place of worshiping because you know the truth, and when that happens, it is not going to matter where you are. When you worship because you really know… you now enter into the land of spirit and truth. We are not talking about praise here. We are talking about the sound of a testimony, a sacred prayer offering. The sound of awakening on levels we’ve never touched or heard before… the singing of the soul.

Friends, praise can issue from a feeling, an emotion, a delight, a stirring, an experience, but worship must flow from truth.

What I want to propose to you and offer up for your consideration is that the missing element of our worship in this day is truth. It is the element that takes us from being a good church to a kingdom mover. It is the element that changes everything. Across the land there are churches built upon and steeped in worship arts. Dynamic sounds issue from the houses; singers unparalleled in gifts, musicians unequaled. The call has gone out and dancers have struck their rhythm. Praise pounds through the atmosphere, and could we be a listener above the earth on a Sunday morning, we would hear a chorus, a symphony of exaltation lifting from this blue orb.

Still, while we have pushed and pressed our way into the sound of heaven, there is a note missing, a tone, a deep gratitude prayer, we long for that would cause all to ring and resound. It is that tone, that ring, that melody, which will shift us from one level of offering to the next. I believe that sound is Truth.  Honest worship.  Worship that becomes a time of absolute intercession between God and man.

For so many years we have danced upon the “in spirit” part of this instruction. We, as good Evangelicals, know how to move in the spirit… or at least we think we do. Nobody gets into the spirit like a charismatic (in our opinion -oops! sarcasm). Ah, yes, we know about the spirit. We can get into the spirit – the spirit of the experience, the spirit of joy, the spirit of anticipation, the spirit of expectation. We can work up a great spiritual praise experience. But in order for it to pass the point of praise and enter into clearly delineated worship, deep and profound truth must be added to the equation. And truth requires some transparency we prefer to dance ourselves out of.

You see, while your praise may speak to your level of involvement and passion, your worship speaks to the level of true revelation in your life. It speaks to what you know about Him. Your worship tells your story. It is your testimony fleshed out… for better or for worse. You can praise Him. You can sing. You can dance. You can shout. You can enjoy. You can be saved. You can be a good Christian. You can be a Pastor, teacher, missionary, praise leader, and effective witness. You can be many good things without deep revelation, but you will never be a true worshiper until you can worship Him in Spirit and Truth.

Everything about someone entering into true worship testifies, prays.  Their worship acknowledges, it awakens, it pierces, it penetrates. True worship is resonant and resident.  True worship has a story.  True worship has a dance. True worship has a scent, a tone, a fragrance, a prayer… a voice unlike any other. Worship is birthed in your life when your God becomes very real to you, when you finally get the hugeness of what He has done in and for you, and begin to understand how undeserving you are of that goodness.

Only revelation can birth that in your life.

And when you know…

I mean really know…

Your soul sings.

When I was little girl my mother bought me a music box. It was an ordinary little white, flowery, square box that I presume most little girls had at one point or another in their childhood. When you opened the lid of the box a small spring-held ballerina would arise and begin her twirling dance.I loved that music box. For years I could hear the tune playing in the back of my soul.

The plinking notes did not capture me, but instead, the sound of my mother’s voice as she would wind the tiny box and begin the tucking in process…Around the world I searched for you…sheets blankets clean and crisp from hanging in the sunshine on our clothesline, now deftly drawn up to my chin; I traveled on when hope was gone…sides tucked in close, now safe and sound, the smell of ivory soap still clinging to her skin; I knew somewhere, sometime, somehow… hand upon my forehead, she’d push the crazy curls back and lean in and kiss me right between the eyes and smile… You would look at me, I’d see you smile… “I love you, Barbie.” She would turn, wind the box one more time, click off the light, and I would watch her chenille bathrobe clear the door frame as her house shoes patted down the hallway into the living room.

Though no longer in the room, still she remained; the touch, the aroma, the love, flowed through the song and dance of the ballerina and the toy tones of the inexpensive box.Around the world I searched for you…I was loved and comforted.

That phrase always made me feel wonderful on the inside. So wonderful, in fact, I would keep rewinding the music box until my mother would finally call out, “Last time, dear.” I truly believed my mom had chosen that music box specifically for me, and this was her way of letting me know she had longed for me all of her life. In those moments I felt unbelievably special. I mean, I must have been for her to say that she had searched the world for me.

Time after time in the lonely stillness of the night, I would slide the music box deep beneath my covers and wind the tiny key, releasing my mother’s love into the dark recesses of the room, Around the world I searched for you…, and I would close my eyes and rest.

Even today, the tune winds through my heart and tears halt just beneath the surface of this child-turned-woman’s eyes. But now, in my advancing years, a deeper, more profound voice has been added to the song. There is now a peaceful tucking that has nothing to do with blankets but everything to do with linen cloths. A leaning in and rustling that has nothing to do with childhood curls, but everything to do with my rebellious nature. A kiss that still hits between the eyes and goes straight to the heart.

In inky blackness and starry night He sings over me. Always about His ministrations, He hovers and covers and sees to my well being. His goodness and His constant song remind me that I am His and He absolutely did search the world for me.

And in this moment, the song continues… I feel unbelievably loved…and sought.

I loved going to the ocean when I was a child.

We did not have any money to speak of, but every year we would make the trek to Daytona Beach for a full week. It has been 28 years since we took such a trip, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

Mom would put us all to bed about 10:00 PM so we would be nice and tired. She would let us sleep until about 2:00 AM when we would smell the chicken frying in the kitchen. Mama always fried up some chicken for the drive. It took a lot of money to feed four girls and two parents, so we ate in the car along the way. We knew if the chicken was frying it was time to get ready. We didn’t get up, mind you. We didn’t do that ‘til it was time to go. But in my minds eye, I was already walking the gritty sand beach feeling the sun on my freckled cheeks.

We would all pile into the black station wagon at around 3:00 AM, still in our pajama’s; sleep still our closest companion, and the smell of warm chicken and the sound of Mama and Daddy’s muted voices would put us back to sleep. We’d awaken around 7:00 or 8:00 and the “are we there yet’s” would begin in earnest.

I did not know as a child that others had more than I did, or perhaps that I was even looked down upon because of my family’s poverty. I had no idea that my shoes were not supposed to be too big, or that all mom’s did not make their children’s clothes. I did not know that all trips to Florida did not end at the Thunderbird Hotel, or that the drive could be made in air conditioned vehicles with stops at actual restaurants… and it was beyond my comprehension that my mama’s fried chicken was not the food of kings.

Today I know the blessing of air conditioned cars and wearing shoes that I have chosen. I know the feel of silk upon my skin and the luxury of restaurants on long drives. Yes,
God has been extravagant in His provision for my family over the years. Still, in all of the change there has been a constant… My mama’s fried chicken is still the food of Kings.

The years of financial lack were nothing in comparison to the great wealth we enjoyed in that station wagon my daddy spray painted black. We would sing so loud the cars passing us would turn and stare… of course it could have been the spray paint, but we thought it was because of the beautiful music coming from within. We would laugh so hard we cried. Mama would pass out chicken and paper cups full of cold water. The wind blew through the windows and ruffled our hand made clothes, and my daddy would laugh a rich, throaty laugh as the passing drivers shook their heads in dismay.

And in those moments, the world was rich and wet and wonderful…
and we were fully invested.

Sometimes we have it all right in front of us, but cannot see what we have for all that we think we want.

A simple life in the Fear-of-GOD is better than a rich life with a ton of headaches. Proverbs 15:16 (Message Bible)