Yes! He hears us! God hears us! This is so powerful and true. : )
Yes! He hears us! God hears us! This is so powerful and true. : )
I love being part of this glorious, worship-ful community!
These are videos from worship from the last day of my second year of Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry (BSSM) on May 11, 2011. As a friend said tonight, “You often don’t know how much bondage you are in until you really get free. Then you wonder how you ever lived with all that stuff.” Really experiencing true freedom, the freedom Jesus paid for, has been a big part of my journey at BSSM. I highly recommend it: the freedom journey.
I am currently working for an organization called Heroes of the Nation. http://www.htn.org/
They are assembling a website to inspire and mobilize activism and advocacy for social justice,
hence the name “activacy.com”
I am beside myself with visionary joy and delight in being able to be a part of this movement’s momentum.
You are welcome to cheer us on! : )
Here’s a glimpse of the vision:
I am presently in a writing class at Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry. Today we had ten minutes to “free write” based on a prompt. I wrote an anecdote from my childhood. My writing group adored it. So, I opted to post it here. May it awaken your imagination and your hope for Eden. Eden is a real picture of blissful union with God: chatting, walking in the breath of the day, nurturing creation, and co-reigning with Him. Jesus made the reality of Eden attainable to us. We can stroll in unbroken communion with our Creator and King. God longs for us to do so: to dream with Him, to create with Him, and to transform the world with Him. This partnership is the fruit of love. It will bring heaven and Eden to earth.
Eden. It’s one of my favorite words. I love the sound of the long “e’s” – it seems to connote the very evergreen nature of that original garden of promise. Growing up, my backyard was quite Eden-esque. There were eight fruits that grew in our yard: apricots, grapefruit, oranges, apples, figs, plums, grapes, and, of course, the strawberry patch tucked next to the house. To my wide blue eyes, this made the place all-the-more fantastical, a veritable Wonderland of supply and self-sustenance. Adding possibility to possibility, there was also a two story playhouse which my dad and grandpa built for me.
That play house was my house in the sky, a spacesuit to my imagination, and my very own first home. There were cupboards, counters, a mini-kitchen, and stairs leading to a tiny upstairs bedroom with a wooden bed only a child could fit into. And then there was the balcony. The balcony came off of the bedroom. And it was so close to my parents’ own balcony which came from their bedroom; a seven year old’s legs could easily span the distance. That distance was the gap between a reality my mom designated and a reality I designated. The one I designated was much more inventive.
And so, while my mom was usually occupied in the kitchen downstairs, I would make my escape from normalcy. I would pop downstairs to let my mom know I would be “reading.” Then I would read for 30 seconds in my bedroom, trying to substantiate my claim to be “reading”; and soon I would be quietly tip-toeing through my parents’ bedroom, out to their balcony, and from their balcony to my little playhouse balcony. From there anything might happen.
Sometimes I would stay in my playhouse, I’d curl up in the tiny bed just before a thunderstorm hit. My house, the chitty-chitty-bang-bang of houses, would instantly transform into a boat. I would rescue people from foreign lands and pull them to safety. At times, the bottom floor would begin to flood! In these moments I was left with no other option than to walk on the counter and even stand on top of the front door of the house as I pivoted that open door using my hands on the ceiling. (Good thing those hinges were strong.) Those were dangerous times. Being seven and knowing that the future of the whole world rests on whether you can get a green bowl of your last earthly provisions from the kitchen table without touching the floor, is very demanding (at first). Yet the thanks of entire people groups and animal families was always worth the risk.
Risk. I thrived on risk. I would create it perpetually: life and death scenarios, streams of hot lava, small children (and even babies) stranded on miniscule sinking islands. Nothing ever stopped me. When a fleck of hot lava burned my forearm, I pressed on. When a lightning bolt split my life raft in half, I kept going. When all the other humans and animals around me gave up hope, I hope-d still. That playhouse encased in Eden was my place of peace. There I established the reality. There I knew I was significant, able to save lives and transform the world. There, I created. Like God created physical somethings from nothings, I created somethings in my mind. Anything was possible. And I knew God was there with me, enjoying my creation and communing with me about our similarities. I was learning how to govern my own Eden. Next to the playhouse’s front door was a sidewalk, the sidewalk was marked with my handprints. “1983” and my hands. I was four years old when I sunk my powerful hands into the ready wet cement. I was learning how to leave my mark. And how to dream things into reality. I’m still learning. I still live in a world where the sidewalks are made of wet cement and the houses are expectant for my hope to give them purpose. I’m thankful I learned how to save lives so many years ago, standing on my playhouse’s front door, reigning over Eden.
Last year I went to Mexico on my official missions trip with Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry. We saw hundreds of healings and we had an absolutely joyfully catalytic time increasing the blaze in La Paz, Mexico.
THIS YEAR I AM GOING TO CENTRAL ASIA!!!!!!
Let me tell you how I found myself headed so far east:
A couple months ago it was time to choose my top five choices for missions trips. Central Asia was not on my mental list. Then I felt prompted to ask a friend where he felt I should go. He instantly said, “Central Asia.” “What?!!! Why? That’s nowhere on my radar!” I exclaimed, thinking his discernment was wacky. He said he didn’t know why, but he felt like it could be the Holy Spirit dropping ideas into his head. haha. So I began asking God if there was anything to this notion.
That weekend I went to Central California to a friend’s wedding. He married a woman from Uzbekistan. As she stood there at the altar looking at him I began to cry. “It’s the Central Asian bride!” I thought to myself (and the Holy Spirit). “She’s going to fall in love with Jesus and marry Him!!!! Oh my goodness! I don’t remember ever feeling this way about Central Asia!!!! What’s going on? Uh oh… I think I might be going there in March!”
And that was it. Central Asia became my first choice for my missions trip. And lo and behold I was chosen for the team. And now I sometimes tear up when I think about this trip. I’ve never been so far east. I’ve never been in a Buddhist area. It feels abundantly too good to be true, or so good it must be true. haha. I feel exquisitely honored to be going to this region and to become part of her bright future.
I will be investing in the lives of forerunners in remote Buddhist areas. The trip will be from March 25-April 8.
I am full of expectation for a radical explosion across the heavens and through the earth in Central Asia! Central Asia is part of Jesus’ beautiful bride!!!!!! Yahoooooo!
UPDATE 02/11/11 THUS FAR,
TOTAL COST: $2,750.
If you would like to be a part of the group hug around Central Asia, you can make a tax-deductible gift here:
I also need $193.01 immediately to renew my passport. If you want to give toward that, email me and I will send you my home address. Thanks!
If you’d like to join the facebook group, you can do so here:
There’s going to be a wedding!