No Longer an Accidental Jesus Fan; November 24, 2016


It is no longer an accident I follow Jesus and I’m a big fan of Him.  It’s been almost three years now since I’ve reconciled the childhood teachings with my adult yearnings for the Holy Spirit to reveal Himself.  No longer does it seem accidental that blessings, and even teachings, are not the sole institutions of His Grace everywhere.  Even my dreams have taken a change as I isolate the spirits I listen to and hone in only on His voice for me in my life.

It is not without its hardships, because as I isolate His voice as the one I listen to, other voices go to the wayside.  Even voices I had once ascribed as from Him, find a different purpose or get left behind as He refines my walk with Him.

Friends and family that walk with God, are not necessarily a part of my present walk.  I find it interesting, that although they are God fearing and loving people, He is still weaning me away from them to start my own walk – no more codependent relationships, no more Christian walk without taking the time for me to know on my own, not by the witnesses around me, of His greatness.  No more leaning on other’s testimony to float me through; I am to build a testimony of my own.

Not an accidental Jesus fan anymore. 


Accident 790; September 7, 2016

I was blessed by participating in the first Spirit Connection webinar from Doug Addison’s ministry.

One of the things I’ve loved about Doug Addison’s ministry, starting back from about two years ago, is how he hears from the Lord and puts a word out every day.  Most days, I feel as though Doug Addison has really heard from God and he’s speaking directly into my life.  There have been times where he speaks that day on “Don’t be discouraged about bad news you receive today, God has a purpose” and that day I had been served on a legal case.  A year and a half later, I found that case to be dismissed and the Lord used that case for some very special growth and timing for both me and my business.  It took a year and a half, but I still remember the word of God that Doug Addison had posted the day I got served.

My biggest struggle, is now remembering it’s all in God’s perfect timing.

A year or so ago I purchased a book from Doug Addison on interpreting and understanding dreams and then never read it.  I know it sounds ungrateful, but I passed the book along to my father who I thought would benefit from it more.  My father has always been the dreamer in the family and fancies himself a prophet of God.  Although I don’t doubt my father has a gift to receive dreams, or that he’s not blessed by God; I can only say that his dreams have brought me nothing but sorrow and heartbreak by not realizing that the dream is not enough, there is a timing element that needs to followed as well – and it’s not my father’s timing.

When I started to get dreams at a young age that felt like they were from God, yet I had done everything in my power to squelch those dreams and to die to anything having to do with God as a result.

Part of the heartache could have been that we were kicked out of several churches growing up (I’ve gone into detail of this before, and if not, I will in the future) and each time it seemed to be a sign that dreams and visions of God all ended with the canonizing of the New Testament because anything since then can only be a product of pain and sorrow.

Bethel Ministries spends a great deal of time talking about how there are pillars in the church and how the church is to react to a prophet, but without these guidances growing up, I’ve only found that on the other side of my father’s dreams were unfulfilled ambitions.  In fact, my second husband was a product of my father’s dreams.  Although I didn’t want to marry him quite yet, my father said he saw him as my husband in his dream and so I moved forward into one of the most difficult trials in my life.  When I look back now, I guess I could say that my husband now would be the same fulfillment of that dream, “as a foreigner with strawberry blond hair, etc”.  But the un-fulfillment of that dangerous marriage prophecy only bought resentment between me and my family as his personal interpretation of his own dreams, and the wrong timing cost me a marriage and a quarter million dollars of my savings.

It’s hard to trust God and trust dreams and visions when both raised that they were wrong, and then any that were had by my father didn’t bear any good fruit.  I believe that because we didn’t have the church network to help my father through, that what he saw and his own filter was flawed as any human filter is, secluded from a healthy, supportive network.

Doug Addison is one of the only “dreaming prophets” that I am able to fully discern with the Lord’s help, that grasps the full fruit of the spirit and he can properly discern the difference between what dreams are from a human filter, and which are from the Holy Spirit.  He’s so grounded and inspirational for anyone trying to learn the difference, and healing for those like me that have seen only too faithfully how dreams of the spirit, without discernment can break people, families, churches and relationships.

Today was my first time participating in his Spirit Connection where Doug Addison speaks live about what the Holy Spirit is speaking to him about the season, and then he does a question and answer session at the end.  Skeptically, I asked a question of him and remarkably, he answered!  With over 279 people online and asking questions, he took the time to address a question about what to do about my family, – namely my father and his dreams –

My questions to Doug Addison; How do you know if you’re leaving someone behind that you’re doing it in the right spirit, or if you’re being false?  I can’t continue the co-dependent relationship I’ve had with my father and his dreams, I need to part ways and to move onto my own relationship with God and build it with my husband; however, my father makes it very tough to leave the relationship, building only terrible acts that encourage resentment and he uses his dreams as weapons.

Doug answered me in his Spirit Connection webcast for September 2016, that the difference between removing people in your life, versus having a bad spirit about sending people away in your life has to do with the heart – that wanting to raise judgement against them, wishing poorly for them, is the difference between making the right decision and making possibly the right decision in the wrong way.  He encouraged me to read James and John 15.

Today Doug says (September 12, 2016) that “A common mistake people make is not waiting or testing a prophetic word and acting on it too soon in the form of some major decision”.  I leaned on my father’s timing of the prophetic dream and not God’s timing of his dream.  This decision, like many others have allowed me to earn more painful life stripes than I needed to.

Lord, I want to move forward in your vision and timing for me and honor the gifts of the spirit you give people, and my dreams as well, but I move forward with your timing and I wait on you.  Patiently, Dear God, I wait on your perfect timing and I give patience to the people whom I’ve let speak into my life and urge their imperfect, yet well-meaning timing.  God, if I had had not been eager to move forward out of anxiety and not rest and be comforted in your quiet timing for my life, I would have saved myself so much heartache.  Thank you for buying all the heartache back from me in Your “buy back” program and compounding grace both on me and on the people who have spoken into my life.  Dearest Father, I don’t want to raise judgement against those that I have to leave behind because they do not want to walk in Your timing and watch my heart that I don’t raise judgement against them either.  Let the parting be more peaceful dearest God.  Amen.


Accidental Baptism in the Holy Spirit, 788 Part B; August 18, 2016

After an incredible worship, the speaker, Stacey Campbell, came to the front and began speaking.  I liked her for the fact she was also a fellow Canadian, but I couldn’t quite gel with what she was saying. In my mind, I was still arguing with myself if I actually heard Dear God, or if I was hearing my own thoughts tell me what I wanted to hear.  I didn’t have a prayer in me to ask for discernment, for it had been nearly 8 months of a prayerless desert.

Then it happened, Stacey Campbell blurted out the unthinkable, “To anyone who wants to be imparted the gift of Tongues, come up here and … (palatable pause) Patricia King will pray for you!”

My body didn’t feel under my control, my arm jumped up and I stood straight and tall as I could.  The house prophet was the only one that saw my outstretched arms and pointed my way as no one else was making any indication they wanted to be prayed for by Patricia King.  He pointed me out and my body once again felt out of my control and I marched my way to the front and stood at attention in front of Patricia King.  I’ll never forget the look on her face, God bless her, but I could tell she was a bit frustrated.  The whole auditorium was going in one direction of speaking into people’s lives with the gift of prophecy and here there is one person disrupting the whole thing, standing in rapt attention at the front waiting to be prayed for.  What Patricia King didn’t know, was that God made that appointment for me because of my doubting heart.

I was asked to move to the side where they would find a place for us to pray, and where I was originally the only one, about 5 other women joined me up at the frontlines of that auditorium.  With all of us brought to a private room in the side of the auditorium, it was amazing to see Patricia King come into herself and start to speak.  I could feel the Holy Spirit on her as she switched gears from the excitement of the main hall to the private room where around 8 of us were now gathered for the impartation of the gift of Tongues.  When asked if anyone had difficulty, I raised my hand that I was raised non-Charismatic, along with one other woman and she prayed for us separately.  When she put her hand on my head, I felt like I was a basketball in her capable game of speaking to Dear Jesus on our behalf that we wouldn’t be burdened by not having grown up allowing the gifts of the Holy Spirit to manifest in our lives – she was much taller than I had imagined, given I’m used to being one of the tallest women in any group, she towered over me and I submitted to the Holy Father as she led us in prayer.

Then I was baptized in the Holy Spirit, and I received the gift of Tongues along with each of the women there with us.

The most comforting thing that Patricia King said that day, was that when we get the gift, to not be hard on ourselves if it is just a few sounds, because she also had that limited expression at first, but that it grows in us as we build it with time and prayer with the Holy Spirit. Not everyone has these immediate radical experiences with God, but like her husband, he knew God to be right and when he asked the Lord to be in his heart, it didn’t come with the resounding boom that we’d always like, but in the stillness and quietness of our time with Him; we get into relationship that is confirmed, over and over again.

Today I was confirmed again, in my prayerless urgent search for Him; He found me in worship and He spoke to my heart what would happened that would once again affirm his relationship with me.  In that reaffirmation, I wound up being prayed for by a woman whose ministry really speaks to me, like it speaks to many, and I was blessed surrounded by women who sought the same thing.

Dear God is so good, using my failure to believe His still soft voice; He still made a way to both clearly and confidently reaffirm His voice in my heart so that next time, I’ll know His voice and I won’t waiver in faith of knowing Him from the doubting voices in my head.



Accidental Baptism in the Holy Spirit, 788 Part A; August 18, 2016


I was accidentally Spirit Filled today… imparted by Patricia King and the Holy Spirit let me know ahead of time!

I first heard of the Women on the Frontlines conference that was to happen in August 2016 on one of my visits to the Santa Maria Valley Healing Rooms on the Central Coast of California.

Though I no longer lived on the Central Coast of California when the conference was to be held, what appealed to me to make the trip and travelling to the conference was that Patricia King was advertised to be there.

Patricia King’s ministry always struck a special chord for me since I rededicated my life to Christ –

You see, it’s tough when you’re raised very non-charismatic and then you want to branch further into the fruits of the spirit.  First thing you do is try a charismatic church, then, you see people raising their hands at church, you start to back slowly out the door thinking it was a mistake, tripping over someone slain in the spirit on the way to making your exit, concerned that they’re prone in the aisle; panicked you start to question your sanity until someone sees the wary look and grabs your hand and raises it to the roof too – next thing you know, you’re in lovely fellowship, feeling angels around you in mutual worship. 

Given I had a few false starts in getting baptized in the Holy Spirit, making another try with her ministry, a ministry grounded in the movement of the Holy Spirit without coming across like a recent diagnosis from the DSM V (and I say this out of complete love and appreciation of the charismatic movement, but know, that although I believe God moves through the people, I still pray for discernment between what is of God, what is out of the gifts of the Holy Spirit and what is mimicking the best parts of God’s Holy Spirit moving through people but not genuine).

While sitting and waiting for the speakers to rally and the worship team was still doing sound checks, I had the opportunity to speak to a few of the lovely women that were around me ready for the weekend to begin. I was impressed by how many professionals were at this conference and not just the usual “glory chasers” (wonderful charismatic worshipers that fully experience the Holy Spirit beyond what I have been able to comprehend).

The anticipation of the weekend coming weighed on me and the world felt like it was on my shoulders and when worship started I prayed to Dear Father for the first time in what felt like 8 months since I had sometime in the last year lost my ability to pray,

“Dear God, I don’t know what to say, I’m hurt, I’m angry and worst yet, I feel like I can’t pray to you.  I’d really appreciate having the gift of Tongues so I don’t have to feel like I need to come up with the words of what to say, I can just have my spirit reach out.”

That’s when I heard Him. “Go up to the front and kneel and pray.  You’ll be Blessed.”

“Um, Dear God, no.  After the last year, I can’t.  I need to pull a Gideon right now; I need proof before I move to the front to be prayed for or blessed.”  I argued back with the Lord.

“I’ll let you know when, but you should know, if you are to go now, you’ll be blessed.  You’ll know to go up, because there will be an alter call for Patricia King to pray, tonight, and you will know.”

“I’m sorry, Dear God, but I’m still learning to trust You…I can’t go up now, I need to hear it clear as day” Tears finished my prayer and my hands raised into the air, wondering still if I was blessed by hearing His voice or if I was one of those cases I was scared of, imagining conversations with God in my head – after all, Patricia King wasn’t even supposed to speak tonight, let alone pray for me to get any sort of blessing.


Accidental Dream 499, Part B; July 16, 2015

The vividness of this dream woke me up and I sat in the living-room in a daze for several hours.  After the sun came up and the daily alarms went off, my fiance finally awoke and looked over the banister to me in the living-room below.  He asked me what could possibly wake me and have me in the living-room when the tranquilizers I take to help sleep, push me well past my sixth snooze button on such occasions as I take them, like last night.

[For posterity sake, his name is Walter.]

“Walter, I had a dream.  Before you say anything, it was so real, I feel like I’m still in the dream, in some other room of it.”

“Tell me the dream sweetie.” As he leaned over the banister.


After telling him even more than I’ve already written on it in my previous post, we were both in tears.

“Sweetie, that was a dream about Jesus, do you know that?”

I could feel it, but I couldn’t see how they fit together.

“You know, I was bringing you up to see Jesus.  He’s your representation in Heaven for God, you can go visit him anytime and you’ve already been introduced.  There’s no bigger court, than the court of heaven and he’s your guy.  God is described by many things, one of them being ‘Ancient of Days’ so that’s what the old computer technology in the office represents.  The gifts, that’s the Holy Spirit and his gifts. He just has gifts for you.  He wants a relationship with you, more intimately, but you have so many things you’re holding onto you can’t get close to Him. You can’t even get your gifts, because your arms are so full of other, worldly junk, that just keeps you from really getting in the door easily to meet Him.”

My tears were streaming down my face.

“What’s so powerful, is that He not only gives you new gifts, he also buys the pain and items, good and bad, in your personal box that’s holding you back.  It’s gifts upon gifts.”

I start sniffing softly.  He leaned back from the banister, his cheeks also wet from tears, and Walter came down the stairs, meeting me on the couch to hold me.

“But you didn’t help me carry my box!  I was so angry at you!”

Walter held me tighter.  “Baby, if I carried your box, we’d be in a co-dependent relationship.  We’ve both divorced ourselves from that cycle.  I can’t carry your pain for you, I can just take you to Him that buys it back, and support you in the process.”

Harder sobs started shaking my body, noises escaping in-between the sobs like ‘ultimate suffering’ from a broken heart that Inigo Montoya heard when Rugen slaughtered his father.

“I know you know about Jesus, sweetie, you’ve been introduced to him so many times.  Let’s pray to help you remove some of the items in your box that get in the way of your relationship with Him.  You and me.  I have some things I want to ask Him to buy back from me too.”

So that morning, as the sun was just starting to get warm, Walter prayed for us both.  The box of regret, loss, pain, memories, failures, feelings, pride, and anger started to get lighter.

I prayed too, I prayed for the loss of marriages and relationships past, the books I had started to “write” that didn’t have fairy-tale endings.  I prayed for three unborn children that died before they were born.  I prayed for the intellectual property I was so proud of, the things I made that never went anywhere.  I prayed for the good things too, the things that are good because Dear God allowed me to find love again with Walter, but I wanted all the credit.

Most of all, I prayed to empty my box, so I could get a present – I really wanted a gift from Him, addressed to me.

gift box hands

Accidental Dream 499, Part A; July 16, 2015

I (accidentally) had a dream.  

I wish my dream was a statement that started a revolutionary speech and changed culture through my humble blog, but it was a dream none-the-less, and one that certainly changed my culture on how I live my life.

In my dream (and I won’t be sharing the whole thing) my fiance grabbed me by the arm and said he wanted to introduce me to his lawyer, “he’s the best lawyer in the world”, Walter said between grabbing my arm and pushing the elevator button for up.

Now, imagine as I tell you this dream, that it’s so real, you can feel the floor squeak beneath your feet, the wall brush against your sleeve and whoosh of air tickle your hair as the elevator door opens.

I pick up the narrative after the elevator door opens with a strong whoosh, the wind of which makes me take a step back.  The button that lit up was the very last button in a sea of buttons along the side of the door.  Walter looked over at me, reassuringly.  

We made it to the top floor.  The speed we enjoyed on the elevator buckled my knees once, Walter helped me up before the doors opened.  There was only one door on the top floor, no writing on the door except a simple plaque and I could only read “J.Chris-” before the door was opened.  Walter turned the knob to the door, easily going through the doorway.  It was at this moment I noticed my arms were full of stuff.  I had a box with no lid, and it was overflowing.  I tried to get the door with my shoulder, that didn’t work, kicked my foot in the door before it shut, but that didn’t help much.  When I finally did get the door open, it wouldn’t open all the way because there was something behind the door.  Trying not to be frustrated, I pushed hard against the door with my back, navigating the big box through the entry.  

Walter didn’t help me with my box of stuff, either.  The frustration started to spill up my throat.  The nagging tone in my mind building an argument against Walter for when we get home.

I dropped some stuff out of my box on my way in, Walter was giving a man in jeans and a t-shirt a hug.  There were three desks in the room, only two had any room because they were piled high with wrapped gifts, and both of them had computers that were older than my original pre-Pentium with a dot matrix printer that screamed throughout the whole house once it started printing as a child.  

Odd, I thought.  Such old computers, how does anyone get anything done with such old technology!  

I turned around to pick up some of the items from my box that dropped to the floor while navigating the doorway, seeing that the door couldn’t open because there were wrapped gifts all stacked behind the door.  Picking the items I dropped up, I looked at them closely.  One of them was a t-shirt, purple with a green pattern in the center over the heart.  In the way odd dreams go, I knew I made this shirt.  I made this shirt and it was the most special shirt in the whole world.  This shirt was going to change the world.  Another was a book.  When I flipped the book over, I saw a handsome portrait of my ex-husband on the front cover.  I knew this book was special.  It was so special.  I helped write it.  I owned this book.  There were three items I picked up, each of them having a gravitating, greedy affect on me.  I walked over to where I put the box down, and placed them in the box, not looking up to meet the lawyer Walter was trying to introduce me to.

final junk box

When I did look up, the lawyer was just turning to go sit at the desk in the furthest corner of the room.  How he made it there over all the wrapped boxes, wrapped odd shaped doohickies and stacked gift wrapped cubes.  He sat at his desk, and without looking at me, stated, “[my name] I”ll be here still after you clean out your box.  I won’t go anywhere.  There’s a buy back downstairs.”  His arm reached out, and his hand pointed down, emphasizing his point. 

Walter looked at me, “Okay, you go do that, I’ll spend some time with him while you do that,” and he plunked himself right down on a leather loveseat, pulling a gift right out from under him.  I felt a little dejected. 

I stumbled with my box of items that kept spilling and took the elevator all the way to the bottom.  When the doors opened, there was a podium like a concierge stopping post in a pricey hotel. The sign in front stated “Buy Back”.  I got closer, balancing my box and I noticed there was a cash register there.  A grandmotherly woman squealed and started pulling things out of my box while he tallied on his register.  As she pulled out the shirt, I clung to it.  

“You don’t understand, this is very, very precious…” My words were useless as she plucked it right out of my hands.  Next she grabbed the book with my ex-husband’s picture on the front.”Hey! You can’t take that!” I practically yelled, I could see I was making a scene, but I didn’t care.  

“Don’t you get it, I helped write that book!  That’s my book.  I get to keep that book.  It’s all mine, I need to see that.  I need to keep that!  I opened it to the last page and read ‘Not happily ever after'”  Then she pulled it from me and I collapsed onto the floor.  My heart felt like it was beating outside of my chest.  

gift box colorful

That’s when the man who was behind the cash register podium, came around and lifted me up.  

“There, it’s all done.  Now, look what you all got!”

Into my hands, spilled gold coins.  I put them into my pockets.  

The older lady that took all of my stuff out of the box handed me my receipt.  

“Doesn’t that feel lighter?  Here’s your box, now there’s room for gifts.”


Accidentally Healed 1: October 18, 2015

You read it right, I experienced a healing on October 18, 2015.  You’re probably as shocked as I am.

Healings are something that happens exclusively in African countries, with special missionaries and back the biblical times, right?  Not today, in North America.

That’s what I thought.

For the last two years, I’ve suffered from several injuries that didn’t heal. The first one, being my neck.  As I was practicing CPR in an obligatory course, I looked up to the right, and that was the beginning of being bedridden for nearly 6 weeks.  Nerve blocks, muscle relaxants, chiropractor and frequent massages never took away the pain completely.  Up until 2 weeks ago, I maintained a steady diet of Ibuprofen, muscle relaxants (sometimes something stronger) with semi-frequent massages.

The second injury, only 6 months ago, involved a moment of weakness and distress with Dear God.  I can confirm tears, and yelling were part of the internal pain that I expressed outwardly.  Although my bedframe doesn’t show the marks, my foot never healed from the frustrated, bare-footed kick.  The kick that immediately buckled me forward where my hand came forward and also got injured as I came up swinging.  Two broken fingers, and several broken bones in my foot had left me looking as though I was taught a tough lesson by Ronda Rousey.  Not a day went by where I was able to drive, the walking cast was on my accelerator foot, the finger casts on my writing hand.  Even after the casts came off, getting around was difficult and doubled my dose of Ibuprofen.

One bedridden night, I was flipping through Amazon and watched “The Finger of God” through the encouragement of a friend.  I was so touched, I wound up watching all the films by Wunderlust (WP Films).  Not all of them were special to me, I could have missed movie number 2 entirely, but they left me so encouraged.  By the time I finished the last one, I decided to try out a local church; but not just any church, I would not be swayed back into one of those of my childhood churches with stuffy music and even stuffier people.  On that fateful Sunday, October 18, Dear God touched me and I wept.

The music was astounding.  The preaching was less than impacting.  Dear God was still there, with the less than perfect sermon. Dear God had room for everyone there, me included.  At the end, when the pastor prayed and asked for God to touch everyone, to touch the bad backs and sore necks.  I felt a warmth, like a hug from a parent before you hit puberty, warmth remembered from youth when the world still seemed perfect.  I cried like I haven’t cried.  I cried for my broken heart.  I cried for my broken body.  I cried for the miracles Dear God has done in my life, but I still felt abandoned.  I cried for the sake of crying.  And when I was done crying, I was able to walk out of church.

Yes, you read that correctly.  I walked, without limping, out of church.  I walked straight, and looked over my shoulder when I left.  Over my shoulder, neck twisting, without a thought, because there was no pain.

Even my foot and hands, that broke with my anger towards Dear God; Dear God had the Grace and capacity to meet me there, at that little church that had no more than 30 people in it, and me – broken me – healing the very wounds I suffered wanting to inflict pain out of frustration on Him.

That’s the first time I’ve ever felt the Spirit move, and I’ve been walking towards it, without pain, since.

Oh, and I had a massage today … part of my former, regularly scheduled pain regimen, and she didn’t find a single knot between my shoulders, had to ease the amount of pressure she used, and she didn’t find a tight trapeze muscle.  I wept until I feel asleep, right there on the table today; for the first time in years, I relaxed.

Accident 478; July 21, 2015

When I was a child, being raised in a Dutch-Canadian home, I was well learned on Corrie ten Boom.

One of her stories laid dormant in me until just a few weeks ago.

Corrie Ten Boom was famous for writing of a time when her and her family were in concentration camps as a result of hiding Jews in their home during the holocaust.  Afterwards, she wrote of a soldier that was well known for his cruelty.  The details of this man, and his relationship specifically to her, I don’t remember exactly, however, the childhood impact of learning that she was standing there on a pulpit talking of forgiveness, when walking up the isle to meet her, was one of the most sadistic men in the camp, raising his hand to hold hers in forgiveness.  I can only imagine the feelings that would have been coursing through her as she held his hand and tested her own preachings of forgiveness; only something supernatural can attest to her ability to forgive.

The horror of forgiveness has hibernated in me since.

How can you ever, ever forgive a bad person?  When so commonly, I can’t even forgive the snotty little teenager the neighbor struggles to control and stomps my flowers, let alone someone who’s been at the very least, reckless with my heart?

Through complete submission of all feelings to Dear God.  It’s the only explanation that I can think of that makes sense.  And it’s not a process that comes easily – I haven’t been in a holocaust, but I have had a man treat me worse than he did his dealer.  He tilted the rules of relationship to fit his gross agenda and lied extravagantly until at one point it nearly cost me my life.  Forgive him?  Worse, forgive me for participating in the relationship with him?  I thought it was impossible.

That keyhole and the camel story has some merit to it, because until you can truly allow your heart to break, you can never truly mend and it’s a [expletive adjective] tight emotional hole to go through.  But when you get to the other side, there’s a whole kingdom in there.

That keyhole is the horror of forgiveness; the willingness to be so broken by the pain that you’re willing to be healed by something that can only be supernatural.

I accidentally forgave my ex-husband.  I also forgave myself.

The healing is supernatural.

Accident 38, Part C; June 15, 2014


I accidental allowed my heart to open up to love again.

Just a week before I met this man, a dear friend of mine and mentor since I was 11 years old flew into town.

Her and I prayed extensively as we hiked, I had a panic attack, she prayed over me, as we talked and I cried, she prayed again.  In her prayers, she asked Dear God to bring love into my life and not just any love, but The Love of my life.

I was openly sarcastic and not without my doubts.  I mean, I only just started inviting Dear God back into my life, how in the heck does he plan on getting this stone of a heart to ever open up again?

So far, it opened and it can only be Dear God because I was on my own, hoping I’d transform into a Lesbian rather than ever trust in a man.

Mysterious ways, absolutely.  Knows my heart’s desires more than I know my own?  Absolutely.

Accident 501, Part C; August 29, 2015

Personally it has also been a journey.

When I get anxious, I pound away angrily at my keyboard creating tasks, spreadsheets, answering emails, haranguing employees, balancing the books, pulling reports … an exhaustive effort in tasks that do nothing for my emotional self.  And when there isn’t work left, I start on groceries, cleaning car, house maintenance and nagging those that live with me to live up to this standard of perfection around me that doesn’t exist.  It also doesn’t make me feel better while also alienating the people that mean the most to me – those that live and work with me.

So I’ve discovered, it’s not about the bible study, the daily reading or the intensive prayer before bed or even chalking up my church-going life to be put in the same category as my chores, and it’s not even in the lack of those things, but it’s the relationship, the people that matter.

What does this person, me, have with Jesus right now?  Today, am I a Mary or a Martha? Are we in relationship, or are we in task?

Great people are those that recognize people, not tasks, are the true measure of a person.