I'M NO LONGER A SLAVE TO FEAR...

As I was perusing through Facebook this morning, my Timehop popped up on my screen. Now, I had never seen "my" Timehop before, and often wondered how people did it, but it wasn't of enough interest to me to find out. So I was kind of surprised to see it all of a sudden. But what really caught my eye was the date, March 27. Ahhhh yes, it's March 27. That's a date that is forever etched in my memory. A little while later an excerpt from a song I had played from a post by Brian Johnson continued to play on repeat in my head. That's when it dawned on me. "I'm no longer a slave to fear..." it's March 27th. It was then I began to suspect God is saying something to me this morning.

I won't elaborate on the details, but it was exactly six years ago this very moment, on a Friday, that I was painfully (literally) sitting in a local emergency room waiting to be seen. To add a bit of trivia, it's the first time since that date that it's fallen on a Friday. Which just brought to mind another memorable phrase, "It's Friday but Sunday's Coming".

Long story short, I left the hospital seven days later minus one gallbladder, but with newly acquired diagnoses of Pancreatitis and Type II Diabetes. I didn't return to work for seven weeks, spending most of my time sitting in a recliner regaining my strength.

But here's the important stuff about that day - about that journey. I entered the hospital aware that people would have to look inside of me. I had been fearful for about 30 years for that to happen. I didn't want anyone to look inside of me for fear of what they might find - I was sure I had some dreaded terminal disease and if no one looked it wouldn't be there. Sounds rational, huh? But on this day, the pain was too unbearable for me to do anything else. I was aware of what I was doing, but I wasn't afraid. Over the next days, weeks, and months as I took further risks having invasive well-check procedures done to lots of body parts, I was aware but I wasn't afraid.

Exactly seven months to the day after that dreadful yet glorious morning, I boarded an airplane with my husband and flew to Indianapolis. This was the first time I had flown in about 12 years. Fear. But I knew if Papa God could free me from fear of being looked at internally, he could certainly take care of this. I still remember the three little angels outside the window as we became airborne, clapping their hands and almost giggling they were so happy.

So as I sit here this morning, about to embark upon the seventh year of this freedom, I'm aware of new fears, disappointments, uncertainties, insecurities that have crept into my world. That may be keep me from my destiny. You see, I didn't mention earlier something that walked into that hospital with me and walked out with me, and sat in the recliner with me... It was LOVE. Ginormous, tangible love. It was such amazing, overwhelming love that I knew its origin had to be from my Papa. I have to admit, I've allowed that ginormous love to wane over time - and I don't like that.

Holy Spirit said something to me yesterday as I was just casually chatting to him while walking through my kitchen. I think I said something like, "Maybe I want too much love." I barely got the thought out of my head and he said, "There's no such thing as too much love."

So I'm going to take risks. I'm going to love extravagantly. It's kind of scary, because, well sometimes we don't get loved back extravagantly. I'm not really sure I can do it. But it's a risk that I must take, a risk that maybe Holy Spirit is telling me to take. Because the fear is not part of love.  (II Timothy 1:7, I John 4:18)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uth38v0cm30

CAMP

I thought about titling this "Church Camp", but then realized we never said "church camp". We just said "camp" - and we all knew what it meant. There was no other camp in our world. All of my camp experiences were Foursquare camps, which is the name of a denomination for those who aren't familiar.

I started attending camp when I was 8 while living in Moline, IL. We would board a school bus and head to Lake Geneva in Wisconsin. I remember sitting in a class one morning and the camp nurse walking up to me and asking about the rash covering me. I immediately told her it was a heat rash that I got every year. Quick thinking, but apparently nursing school had trained her otherwise, and my measles and I had to go home. I can still picture that morning, and spending several hours in the nurse's office until someone from home came to get me. Oh how I hated to leave! There was only one year that we didn't get to go to camp, 1962 when we came out to Phoenix on vacation. I'm pretty sure I would have opted for camp if given the choice. At some point, we no longer went to Lake Geneva, because we had moved up to the youth camp, and I think went to a different location in Wisconsin. I may have only gone to that camp once before moving out west.

In 1965 we moved to Phoenix, but guess what - they had camp too!!! We would take vans and cars up the mountain to Camp Friendly Acres in Williams, AZ. Sometimes the VW bus would break down or overheat going up the mountain and we'd have to pull over. I don't remember if there was AC in them - prob'ly not, and if there was, it would likely have to be turned off for the climb up anyway. But once there, the trip was well worth it. We always got to spend a full week, Saturday to Saturday, and when it was time to come home, I would begin longing for next year when it was time to go back.

I guess I loved being away from home, but it was more than that. I wasn't particularly fond of the whole 'camp bathroom' lifestyle, but I suffered through it for the rest of the good stuff. It wasn't the modesty issue, but more the 'creepy bathroom' - no, I don't think the bathrooms and showers were creepy, it's just an "issue" that I have - still today.

I loved everything else about camp! Even the early morning wake-ups. Devotions by the flag pole - and you never knew whose underwear would be at the top when you went out there in the mornings. Breakfast - there was always bowls of prunes - which I think lasted all week because no one would eat them. Time for cabin clean-up, always a contest, so we had to clean really good (those camp leaders were pretty smart). Morning class - I still remember Exodus chapter 3 burning bush is in the left hand corner of the lodge - was a way we were taught to remember the Bible one year - it apparently worked. Lunch time - and oh please don't have someone pray for lunch who prays for every missionary on the mission field! Rest time after lunch, and then free time in the afternoons. Walks up to Cataract Lake, swinging on the swings, figuring out which boy we 'liked' -- and there were always the ones from all the other Foursquare churches in AZ to choose from -- andddd there were the years that Chuck Smith (before Calvary Chapel got so big he wasn't able to) came over and ran our camps, and Chuck Jr. brought 3 of his friends - OH YEAH! Cute surfers from Newport Beach, CA!!! -------- Time to get ready for dinner - trading clothes and looking cute for the boys. After dinner, back to the dorm to get our Bibles and head to the lodge for evening service. Time to strategically sit where the boys just might sit next to... I don't remember if one of the boys ever sat with me at camp (actually one of the surfer guys and I did get together at some point one year briefly...)

The evening service was always fun - singing (that's what we called it then), sermon and always time at the altar. THOSE are the times I remember the most! Times at the altar. God ALWAYS was there, in a magnificent way. Those encounters played a huge part in who I am today. Sometimes we were there really late, but we didn't care - well, as long as the snack bar was still open when we got out.

Snack bar, talking with friends, walking with boys (if we were lucky - I never was), and off to bed. Some of us didn't always stay in bed. Sneaking out and meeting up with the boys or ringing the dinner bell and sneaking back to the dorm -- only to find Mary Jane May sitting there waiting for us. Not sure why we thought we might get by with that. But as I look back, it was all good, clean fun (I think it was anyway - was for me). I could never understand it when I heard my friends say, at the end of the week, they were glad to be going home. I was never glad to leave camp - never! But the day came when I no longer went to camp. I was 18 or 19 and that would be the last year.

I always made sure my kids went to camp - and on the year I wasn't going to be able to make that happen - God provided. Thank you Pastor Don Price - thank you!! I will NEVER forget that.

This morning I had the privilege of taking one of my grandsons to board a bus for camp - his second year. The bus he boarded has AC, and plush seats and likely had no trouble making it up the hill to Prescott. I suspect the grounds are less primitive and they prob'ly won't waste their money on prunes for breakfast.

But I am praying the same Holy Spirit is there and these kids will have AMAZING ENCOUNTERS with Him - and He will rock their world, just like He did mine!

The legacy goes on ---- and I wonder if they have creepy bathrooms and showers.

Freedom for Four

Today marks four years - March 27, 2013. Four years ago today is when I allowed Papa God to begin freeing me from 30 years of bondage. Severe pain forced me to visit Banner Thunderbird ER, and it wasn't until one week later that I left the hospital. I left with an additional 17 lbs (that I did NOT need) of hospital fluid, a few prescriptions, diagnoses of pancreatitis and diabetes, some residual pain and a lot of weakness. But I also left without a couple of things - a gall bladder and fear!

This date is forever etched in my memory. A date when I began to walk into my destiny. A date I took the risk to trust God more than myself and my own manipulations. A date when I gave in. Oh, of course the pain forced that surrender. But it felt so good to give in, to no longer manipulate, and to no longer fear. Even though I carried some extra pounds, I felt so much lighter.

I've had to make choices over the past four years - choices that could have opened the door back up to fear. I'm not willing to open that door. Thank you Jesus for freedom!

When the End is Just the Beginning

When something comes to an end, there's often sadness that comes along with it. This afternoon was the end of the first session of AZ School of the Supernatural. It feels a little weird, knowing it's over, but I'm excited because there's so much more ahead.

The past 12 weeks have been life changing. Yes, it's been a bit of a sacrifice to spend every Fri. evening & Sat. afteroon going to school - well, except for the two weekends we missed due to SOZO trainings. But the benefits outweigh the sacrifice.

Reflecting on the benefits:

• Lots of new friends
• Found an amazing new church (unplanned side benefit)
• Met some amazing revivalists from Bethel Church, or who came through Bethel, or who just plain like Bethel
• Got to house some of these people overnight in our home
• Got to host some of them lead meetings in our home while they were in town
• Had some fabulous soaking encounters. Worship just kept getting better and better. As I laid on the floor soaking this afternoon, I thought of how I love it when the worship leader just has to sit or stand up front and worship -- and we all do the same.
• Received some powerful activation from these risk takers
• Heard some thought provoking and motivating preaching
• Healed from dizziness -- still declaring that one as it keeps trying to come back (not gonna lie to ya about that. 2 Facts: #1 I was healed. #2 It keeps trying to come back.)
• Laughed, laughed and laughed some more
• Fun fire tunnels
• Felt His Presence - and there's NEVER a substitution for that

Reflecting on the sacrifices:

• On second thought, there really isn't anything important enough to list

Look out Arizona -- ASSM has only just begun. Along with other amazing and powerful revivalists from various streams, Arizona is getting rocked!!!

Waiting for the summer session to begin in just three weeks!!

May 26, 2012

I've learned that grandchildren grow up. They grow up really fast. Much faster than their parents (APoG - Adult Parent of a Grandchild) did. Once a grandchild is born, there is some sort of time warp that goes into effect, and from then on, it's like a blur before your eyes.

Today our oldest grandchild, Justin, turned 15 years and 6 months old - and we all know what that age means in many states of the U.S. - driver's permit. It that wasn't enough, our second oldest grandson, Zach, went off to church camp this morning - alone.

Whoever decided that a child was ready to be in control of a 4000lb metal - ok, plastic - object, that can travel down a completely loaded 6-lane highway at 65mph. It obviously was not a grandparent. But his APoG's seem to think it's OK that he get his driving permit now. Well, not right now, because it's Saturday - of a 3-day weekend -- days that DMV are closed -- hee hee. So I say, as long as he has to wait until Tuesday morning, three whole days, he may as well just wait until he's.. oh, say voting age  -- or maybe 35.

Camp! What APoG sends a little boy who isn't even 9 years old yet off to camp, 100 miles away! Why, are there even any adults along -- I mean real adults, say over 30 for instance. Do those counselors even know how to take care of kids, and know what it means to insure their safety? What if they're on their cell phones or have an iPod in their ears, and forget there are kids there to watch? Did anyone check that bus driver's credentials?

God has such a sense of humor, to put these two big events on the same date. He must think I'm strong to endure such trepidation. He must know how much I trust Him. I can just see Him now, leaning back on His big throne, a smile on His face, His arms crossed across His chest, nodding His head... 'Yep, there's my favorite daughter, trusting me again. She's got it! And I've got those boys.'

Driving means freedom. I can still remember how good it felt, maybe a little surreal. My first drive alone was to church. I just remembered that. That has an interesting meaning to me today - almost 43 years later.

Camp - The time of my life! I could have lived at camp and been perfectly content -- well, except for the creepy showers they always had. Between ages 8 and 19, I only  missed camp once, the year our family came to Arizona on vacation when I was 11. Camp was so fun, so free. God always met us there - ALWAYS. When we lived in Illinois, He was always there at the camps in Wisconsin. Then when we moved to Arizona, He was always there up in Williams.

Those APoG's I mentioned earlier started going to camp when they were 8 too. They loved it like I did. They also started driving as teenagers. They liked that too.

Papa God and I are just smiling at each other right now -- you'll have to excuse us for a moment.

LOL With God

I went to my first Vestibular Therapy (vertigo) appointment this morning -- which had been delayed for close to a month now for one reason or the other. For instance, I had a hair appointment (first things first), the physical therapy place directed me to the wrong office, where they don't do VT, my appointment there 'vanished' from their records, they didn't have the Rx from the ENT. But I finally got there - this morning. I was told Elaine would be working on me, and she was great.

But when I got there this morning, I met with a male therapist. Wait... they said Elaine was great, what if this guy isn't great. What if he isn't even good. This isn't just a few leg raises and 10 minutes on the bicycle. This is where they twist your head around and make your eyes roll around in their sockets. Elaine knows what she's doing.

He tells me he's going to assess my vertigo before I start on the regular PT (the stuff I've been doing at the other office for my low back and hip pain). He's going to assess me?? I was counting on Elaine doing that - because she's good! I tell him I've had it for about 10 years, that it went away about a year or so ago, but then it came back last fall when I went to a conference and after I did some brain exercise thingy hanging my head over the side of the bed.... BUT, let me add one more thing Mr. Physical Therapist Guy, ummm, well, almost two weeks ago you see, I was healed - I believe in that. Now I was waiting for his eyes to roll around in his head. They didn't; he just said, "OK". I go on, so see, I can look up now (see, watch me). I couldn't do that before two weeks ago. He asked if I had any symptoms now. I told him I hadn't for about a week and a half, but then a few days ago a few of them started to come back, but I've been saying, "No!", and it's still way better than it was. I told him, spiritually I didn't understand that, but...

When I finished my hip/back exercises, Mr. PT Guy comes back and he tells me to stand up. He says though I was healed, he can see by the way I hold myself that it is causing the vertigo that remains by putting stress on my back, neck and head -- or something like that. He told me to sit in a chair and he began to work on my neck. He said he's been doing this for 25 years. I wondered if that was more than Elaine had been doing it.

While he was working on my neck, we talked a little. He hangs out at some of the same places I hang out, and listens to some of the same people I listen to. He talked about blending faith and physical therapy. He talked about PT's putting their hands on their patients being rare these days. I laughed a little - out loud - even though nothing was funny. I'm going back tomorrow.

I have to laugh out loud when I think about God and the stuff He does. A few delays in scheduling, a healing, and a physical therapist helping out for a couple of weeks. I am so crazy about you Daddy God!!! Thank you again.     ----Your favorite, Connie

Blue Like Jazz

We've been waiting for this movie to come out. Waiting... wondering... waiting... Today it arrived, in all its fanfare, at the theaters. We wanted to go not only on opening weekend, but on opening night. Would you believe a class we're in got out early and we made it to the 9:45pm showing. Just one of those little gifts.

Don Miller, thanks for your bravery for giving your thumbs up on this movie - oh, and for writing the book. It speaks volumes. Well worth the wait, the price, the late night, and the restless legs I experienced throughout. The only thing that would have made it better, was if I had been in my beloved Portland for it.

I'm spreading the word -- telling everybody I know (including the guy at the box office) -- & babysitting my grand kids tomorrow so their parents can go.

Oh, and this is the first time mine and Dave's name has been on the big screen. Well, and prob'ly the last too.