The Mirror Image

The antique high chair

Cradles a seed-cushioned lap desk

A makeshift pulpit.

My audience mocks me

Speaks every word I say

Reflecting

a mirror image,

A face I know well.

I listen to what            

the image says and I wonder

if she really reflects me

or just who I want to be?

I talk about days when

Fear and insecurity

Motivated my life

Led me to a place where

God sent His Word

Healed me

While a hair dryer hummed

In my ear.

The IPad records,

The phone keeps time,
a stop-watch.

I practice because
I might be

Doing this story telling

with fear and insecurity.

The image knows that I am.

I pull back the curtain

Open the door, sit on the rock ledge

warm with the afternoon sun.

The back porch is the place

I often perch to pray—over pine trees

Songbirds flitting and darting

Nest building.

No words, I listen-pray.

I leave the interceding for those

Who stand beside me, battle for me

They know that I tremble to tell,

know I find it hard to embrace the call.

The breeze soothes

The sun embraces.

I know the story.

I didn’t make it up.

A gentle blowing …

In still silence..the Word says

Trust.

I slip on the starched white shirt,

The canary yellow linen jacket,

Blue jeans.

Grab the big blue NASB I got the year

God sent the healing Psalm.

Manila envelope clutched under my arm

I am out the door.

And He goes with me

To the stage,

A voice through a microphone

And then He embraces the lady

who steps from the front row

To weep in my arms

that are really His arms.

She weeps

Because my story is hers.

Wrapped up, 

the pain released 

gentle sobs

upon my shoulder.

Closed eyes see clearly.

Eyes closed in prayer,

Surrounded by praise.

The mirror image fades.

The image of Jesus 

reflects His life

revealed in me.

I wonder

at the Mystery

of the One who made me

in His image.

Some day, face to face.

Until then in the mirror dimly.

Last night, my church hosted a community-wide worship event for women. The event crossed many  denominational lines. This is our third month to meet and we plan on meeting at a different church each month. The only men in the room were running the sound board! We had nine women on instruments or singing leading worship, and three speakers who gave testimony to the grace of God in their lives. I was one of those speakers.

(By the way, we like men but they do the same thing we did last night every month. Our inspiration came from what God is doing among the Sons of Thunder. We call the women's ministry Daughter's of Light.)

It was quite humbling for me to speak to my community, a place where I have lived for over twenty years. I need to be humbled--- over and over again. I have lived in pride and I know I could "catch" it again. I come down with it occasionally. I promise you that.

One thing I know is, I will never get over what Christ has done for me. As Jennifer Dukes Lee said in a blog last week, "This is the very best way to destroy a story: never tell it." I took her up on the advice from her post, battled away the insecurities and I told the story--- twice in the past week. That isn't something I do often. It just happened to be what God called me to on this leg of the journey.

This story I struggle to tell?  

You can read a short part of it here: From the Deepest Well, the Way Up is Up. 

My advice is never get to the place where the way up is up. The truth is that "the way up is down."