Dry Season

This is the season of waiting.

The dust makes tornadoes in the road and the wind whips.

The clouds gather heavy with expectation and they pause. A pause that sounds deafening as the moment before a birth cry.

And a question. When will the rains come?

Splinter thick, hope embeds her mark on the soul. We have a promise.

It will come. Like dreams remembered in sleep barely waking, we etch images of land and rivers, homes and bonfires, and children lit up by the wavering sun. A place of healing. A sanctuary of whispered prayers the heart finds the daring to pray.

A home. A retreat. A resting place for God.

We go back to scribbled words in journals, inked in candelight and morning light and we hold them open to heaven as if to say, “See, you said.”

Yesterday the children practicing listening to God. Their shaky, markered words become clear on the page, “I am a daughter.”

And the red blob is heaven.

And who is that hovering?

It's “malaika,” an angel. And the “holy spirit, ” is coming close.

And everywhere, in their pictures, the rains are falling.

Check Out Our February Newsletter: The Heart Files

Read it! Lots of exciting stuff happening!

Just a lover

The afterglow. The heat of the touch of Jesus still radiant on my skin. And a hand. A hand upon my heart sealing it for Him. This is the essence of life. What I live for. But oh how I'd forgotten, forgotten how good it can be.

In the aftermath of all doing, there is emptiness. In the afterglow of his Presence there is only the sound of laughing and a stillness which allows me to breathe.

I love missions. I love ministries. I've been to Iris, I've been to Bethel, I've been to conferences and I've learned and I've seen. But its amazing how easy it is to get it all twisted. We chase the ministers, the speakers, the events, the worship leaders, the "culture of revival,"the ministries we will build for God, but somewhere in there we forget to chase Jesus.

I had an encounter with God. I can only describe it as fire. And in that moment He told me that I am not a revivalist, I am just a lover. I was made to be a lover. It's amazing how freeing that can be.

It's not about ministry-how great or how wonderful or how big or widespread it is. It's about love.

And not just loving the lost. But being in love with God.

I didn't realize how much pressure I was carrying around with me. The pressure to measure up. To create revival, to save the lost, to heal the broken, to see healings, to make something, anything (c'mon Lord) happen. To be a “sent out one” instead of just Sarita.

To force the hand of God so that I could have some credibility. Because how will people know that God is with you unless really cool stuff is happening? I think we've done something wrong here....somehow the message got jumbled even though the messengers meant it with the most beautiful intent.

It's easy its so easy to idolize the ones God has given the message to. I love Heidi. I love her so much I want to be like her. But I'm not her. I'm me. And she is not Jesus.

Somewhere deep, in a place yet searched for, in a place yet unnamed is a balance I haven't quite found yet but search for with all my heart.

A balance of being in love with Jesus. Of being a loving person not just to the lost, but to my husband, my friends, my family and the ones who see the most intimate, uncovered parts of me. To be a person who is not just kind to people when I'm “ministering” but whose life reflects a love for the least and the greatest that is equal.

Character.

A balance of receiving and then giving. But in that order. And not just staying in a place because it's easier to connect with God, and it's safe, but taking that fresh manna from heaven and giving it away.

I'm tired of running the end of two extremes. And it makes me sad to see it in the Body. The conference groupies. Or the burned out missionaries. The speakers who heal on stage and hurt people behind closed doors.

Because God is most concerned with who I am when no one is watching then what I do.

There is something coming. Wars and rumors of wars. Time grows short as Jesus coming back to reclaim us gets closer. And I ask myself the question, are we ready? Are we the Bride? Do we really love Him with our whole hearts.

And I ask myself the question what would I do differently if I knew I only had years left. If I knew time was not a given, stretching into infinity. How would I change my life?

How would you change yours?