Tribute to my Dads (Shared at my dad's Homegoing)

There’s a command in Scripture that has a promise attached to it.  It says this:  “Honor your father and mother…that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.”  It’s my desire that what is said here today about my dad will be honoring to him.  I also want what I say about him to be honest.

            At age 33, I sat down with my Bible and wrote my dad’s name in one column on a piece of paper.  In the other, I wrote God’s name.  I listed their characteristics and compared them.  Through my tears I saw the vast disparity between the kind of father my dad was and the kind of Father God is.  I had to make a heart shift to believe that my Heavenly Father was all that He claimed to be because my dad’s reflection of Him was so distorted.  Of course that’s true of all of us.  None of us are sinless… none of us are perfect.  I wasn’t the ideal daughter either.

            Many of you know my dad from work.  You know him to be a man of integrity, a hard worker, one who demanded perfection, skilled, talented, a man with a strong handshake and an unshakeable countenance.  Others of you know him from his leisure time.  If you’ve golfed with him, you know his love for the game, his determination and his joy.  Maybe you even know about his ability to watch the PGA and sleep at the same time.

            But as his daughter, I have the ability to fill in some blanks.  For instance, dad could be a hard man.  He had high standards and the same perfection he demanded in the workplace, he demanded in his home.  As a child, if I’m honest, I feared him more than I enjoyed him.  He was not an affectionate man.  He had some vices that brought turmoil to our home.  The fact of the matter is:  he was an imperfect man who fought hard to be perfect.  And fell far short of the goal – just like the rest of us.

            Dad’s faith in Christ was a private matter.  He told me that he received Jesus as his Savior in his teens at a church camp.  He wasn’t one to elaborate… and he didn’t.  I had my doubts about his commitment to Christ back then.  We didn’t have the typical father-daughter relationship.  It was missing the key ingredients of daily “I love you’s” and trust and hugs and tender moments.  That just wasn’t dad’s way.    Sadly, I figured he loved me only because he had to.  But something happened later.  I can pinpoint the day I noticed the difference.  I was in my late 30’s.  I had gone to my parents for a visit and before I left, dad hugged me and said, “I love you gal.”  That was new… and profound… and life-changing.  He was different.  Because he was so private, he never said what turned him around.  But I know.  I know that God removed my dad’s heart of stone and gave him a soft heart, one that wanted to believe God and follow Him, and a heart that wanted to make right the mistakes he made.  And he made them right.

            He attended all of his grandkids graduations and delighted in them.  In these last 3 years, my father travelled even with his ill health to all 3 of my kid’s weddings – a sacrifice on his part that I am deeply grateful for.  There were countless ways that my dad’s life changed.  He was kinder and more patient.  His temper was less noticeable.  He served people whole- heartedly.  He read his Bible faithfully.  He gave more.  He laughed more.  He loved my mom more.  He loved us children more. But the greatest gift to me has actually been just recently.

            My parents have been married for 55 years.  I watched them dance at my son, Luke’s, wedding.  It was an anniversary dance.  Jon and I, Bryan and Janet, Steven and Christine were the last couples standing with them until they were left on the floor alone.  Dad had saved his strength all evening for that one dance with his bride.  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.  But the tears that Bryan, Steven, and I shared were the most telling.  You see, WE know the commitment of those 55 years.  We know what God did to keep our parents marriage together.  And we know what God has done to keep our own marriages together.  My parents’ example is one of perseverance and love that has been through the toughest of the toughest trials and won.  This last week I watched my parents love one another.  It was supernatural.  God’s grace sustained them and I saw the love of God moving in my dad in every coy wave of the hand, in every wrinkle of his nose, in every eyebrow that was lifted, in every raspy word he mouthed.  His eyes delighted in my mom and in me and in my brothers.  He hugged me with the last of his strength, refusing to let me go.  He mouthed “I love yous” without a sound, but I heard them loud and clear.  I remembered the comparison between my dad and my Heavenly Father many years ago – those ridiculous columns that I made - and a scripture came to me.  It says “And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:6)  If I were to make those two columns again, there would be a lot more similarities than disparities.  My dad’s life proves the faithfulness of God to conform us to His own image in whatever way He sees fit.  Dad is finally perfect and is now, right this moment, looking in the face of the fulfillment of his deepest longing and his highest treasure: Jesus Christ.  I will be eternally grateful that D.C. Taff is my dad and that I can still feel his arms around me.  But I’m even more grateful that my dad is in the arms of my Heavenly Father, experiencing joy unspeakable and glory beyond comprehension.  My eternal hope is affirmed in his eternal hope being fulfilled.  Thank you, Daddy.  Both of you.
(In memory of my dad - D. C. Taff who went home to be with Jesus on September 5, 2011.)


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Daughters of the King

I was sitting here thinking about some of the talk shows on tv that showcase diversity in women... you probably know which ones I'm hinting at.  They all have a different VIEWpoint and they all TALK as thought the world would perish without their opinions.  I struggle with them because the claim is that, because they are women in different seasons and professions, at least one opinion at the table will be one that you can agree with.  Their mouths never seem to parrott any of my thoughts.  You are free to disagree, but that's how it is for me.  I almost always have a different view... and maybe it's because I'm seated in a completely different place.

Tonight I sat with 4 amazing young women.  We discussed the biblical roles of men and women in marriage and in ministry.  Well, I'm afraid I pontificated more than discussed... but I'm the elder in the group.  Oops... sorry men... probably should have used a different term.  [grin]  I'm older.  I probably graduated several years before these women were even born. 

This has been an exceptionally emotional week.  I started my week with a chat with my mom.  My dad is in the hospital.  I won't share details, but I will say this:  my mom is in an exceptionally difficult place right now.  I bumped into another woman that is visiting for a couple weeks.  She and I used to attend the same church.  She's this vibrant, sometimes quirky, Spirit-filled-beauty of a woman that absolutely delights my heart.  She rides motorcycles and makes me smile and has a heart for broken women.  I met with two women over coffee and cookies, two of my closest confidants.  Both of them ticked off a list of trials that would make anyone throw up a white flag in surrender.  Our conversation spanned the gap of tomatoes to kids leaving to heartbreaks to pony haircuts to sex.  Yes... I said the "S" word.  I had breakfast with a woman that I meet with weekly.  I love her.  We catch up on the week's dramas.  We try to encourage one another to take the next step... whatever that might be.  Just before I left the restaurant to go home, another woman I know popped in.  She wears a bandana and cap on her head.  I've known alot of women, but I've never characterized too many of them as brave.  But she is.  Smiling she told me about how blown away she has been by the outpouring of love in our community and from her friends as she faces one of the toughest challenges anyone can face.  I came home to find a plea for prayer and advice from my sweet daughter... we won't go into that... but I spent time today weeping and praying over her and then feebly attempted to counsel her.  She is beyond precious to me.  Moments later a friend of mine called in distress not knowing what to say to another woman that she loves so dearly... a life and death situation.  My heart was broken again in prayer and tears for her.  Later, I received an email from a woman that was precious to me, but whom I had hurt in some way.  She missed me and wants to see me.  Forgiveness happens.  And then these 4.... it's usually five but one was missing from the fold.  Turns out she spent the evening in the ER but didn't want to worry her friends.  (She's going to be fine, by the way.)  Back to the four...Tonight we talked about the other "S" word: submission.  And relationships.  And God's desire to see women flourish in ministry.  And God's design for order and security and love in marriage. 

If I took all these women and put them at one table, their ages would range from 22 to 83.  Their spiritual backgrounds vary.  They are from all kinds of denominations of faith.  They are from all kinds of homes... some dysfunctional, some godly, some somewhere in between.  They are from all sorts of vocations.  Some are married, some are planning to marry, some wish they could marry, some wouldn't marry again if you paid them, some are trying to hang on to their marriages, some are trying to let go of them.  But I think I could sit them all down at one table and ask two questions and get the same answer from all of them.

Ladies... what is your greatest need and what is your treasure?  And they would answer in unison: 
Jesus.

In engaging these women, I was reminded of my greatest need.  How can I answer, counsel, teach, be kind,  motivate, encourage, rebuke, rejoice with, weep with, be a friend to, serve or love any of these without Jesus?  There is no true word, no comfort, no answer, no action, no joy, no love, nothing of any worth that I can offer apart from Him.  Not of any worth anyway.  And it is because of Him that I know them.  Every perfect gift, including each of these women, comes from Him.  They remind me that He is my greatest treasure.

My heart melts when I think of these women and all that they face and the way that they face it.  Chins lifted up, faces to the Son... all of them.  Gifts from the Father... all of them.  Wonders to behold... all of them.  I love them so.  And oh, how Jesus must also.  The daughters of the King are altogether beautiful.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Gospel University

Last week was apparently the first day of school for many.  How do I know this?  Not because I still have small people at home... nope... I took a walk through my neighborhood one morning and there they all stood... small people with their big people... waiting... on at least every 3rd block or so.  Then in the afternoon, Jon and I took a ride on the "mo-bike"... at first we thought, "wow, we must look like quite a spectacle for all these people to be sitting out on their porches waiting for us to drive by."  [grin]  Waiting for the exciting return home, moms were perched on porches and curbs and sitting in their cars in strategic spots... and then we got behind a bus dropping kids off with moms greeting them at the door with the "how'd it go?" I remember well.

This got me musing... what if today was my first day of school?   Now, in my own mind, this is not a pretty picture. School "day ones" for me were frought with anxiety. 

During my walk last week, I saw this one precious teenager.  She was waiting for the bus... probably last year of middle school or first year of high school.  Gorgeous young lady standing there in her jeans and fashion tees.  Perfect hair and makeup.  Just standing, relaxed, confident.  Not a pen, pencil, notebook, backpack in sight.  If I had it to do all over again... I would want to be like that.  First day of high school... no biggie.  But can I just say... that wasn't me... EVER. 

No.  Picture "Harry Potter's" Hermione on  a severe caffeine and sugar high.  That was me.  I was the girl with a minimum of four pens (2 black, 2 blue) and 2 #2 pencils + 1 mechanical pencil, a highlighter, a bottle of "white out", a 3-ring notebook divided into 7-8 subject sections with extra loose-leaf paper, a journal, a pack of 3x5 cards, an extra book to read (in case there was "social time"), and my class schedule attached in plain view on the front of the notebook with a copy of the class schedule hidden away in my jeans pocket (right next to the locker combination) in case I lost the first one.  My inner motto was "don't stand out, don't embarrass yourself, and don't fail."  I was plain.  In my own way, camouflaged.  I didn't know how to dress cool or act cool.  I just knew how to study.  So, yes, I was the girl that came home with every book assigned in every class in my hands on the first day of school.

As for the "day one" experience... straight to my first class with my map of the school in hand, pre-marked and color-coded with the fastest routes to each classroom and alternate routes in case the first was too hard to  navigate.  In every class I took copious notes and made sure the syllabus was safely put away so I would never forget an assignment or a rule.  All this came from too many times in elementary school when I forgot the rules or made mistakes and drew attention to myself.  If at all possible, I hid at lunch and stayed away from any table that looked "fun" because fun could lead to embarrassment.  If I made friends, it was because some wonderful parent taught their child to be kind. Some kind soul inevitably took pity on me and reached out. 

So for me, in context, another first day of school is a nightmare.

But let's pretend I'm an enlightened adult... I know it's a leap... okay, so let's say I'm a Spirit-filled, saved by grace adult.  Not such a leap.  And today is the first day of school... I wonder would a fearless first day look any different?  Would I be the girl that didn't see the need for a pencil?  Would I throw caution to the wind and forget the copious notes?  Would I smile more, look people in the eye more?  Would I worry more about relationships and less about A's?  Would I still be hyper-punctual or would I slide in at the bell?  Would I learn just for the test or would I really learn?  Would I seek out the fun table?  Would I be the kind soul?  Would I stuff my books in the locker at the end of the day and only do what was assigned?  Would I be my normal uber-studious self or would I skip class now and then? 

I think I know how I would be... because lately every day with God has felt like the first day of school.  I'm in Gospel University.  I'm taking a few remedial classes.  Several subjects are just way over my head.  I'm taking some level 4's.  The syllabus is a sparse one.  It simply says:  Be conformed to the image of His Son.  Pop quizes and labs abound every day.  The dust from Jesus' feet flies up in front of me... sometimes I can barely keep up.  Sometimes I just sit at His feet and learn.  Sometimes we just walk from class to class together.  I'm not learning for the sake of the test anymore... I'm learning for the joy of His company and to glorify His name.  It's a stringent pass or fail system... with the exception of endless do-overs. His table is sometimes the fun table, and sometimes set in difficult places, but there's no one I'd rather lunch with.  I'm never without pen and paper, always prepared to take copious notes... never without my journal because I don't want to forget one word, one truth, one glance from Him.  I'm still not a social butterfly, but those He knows are becoming my friends too.  And He doesn't seem to know a stranger.  He's showing me how to engage people, to share with others, to be kind, to love.  He's encouraging me to live boldly, to learn fearlessly, to teach freely, to fail honestly, to recover gracefully, to preach truthfully. 

You know, I had some great teachers back then... but this... this is wholly (and holy) other.  And I'm loving my schedule, and my subject, and my Teacher.  And I'm looking forward to tomorrow - my first day of school. 

Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

No More Empty Nest...

Today I saw a little boy sitting with his mom having lunch.  His mom was easily delighted with his non-stop chatter about their day.  He was waiting as patiently as a 5-year old can wait while mom finished her salad.  Apparently salad takes longer than nuggets.  What intrigued me was this mom's steady reveling in the moment, nodding and "yesing" and smiling and laughing.  I'm sure she had somewhere else to be, something else to do... but it would wait.  Her nest is considered full and she is loving it.

It made me think about my "empty" nest.  Everyone says it's empty when the kids leave.  To some degree, it has felt that way for me and my husband.  But today... because I was eyewitness to a memory in the making, I've decided that empty nests aren't really empty.  Many reasons come to mind, but I have three on my heart.

First, inside of me are 20+years of days that are filled with the faces of my family.  I thanked God today for the ability to remember.  Tapes of my 3 five-year-olds started to replay.  Shanna and I making playdough cookies, reading together, eating McDonald's french fries... listening to her talk about "the yellow birds" at school, the bus ride, the I-can-do-it-myself's... Jonathon and I helping Mario rescue the princess from Bowser, jumping on the trampoline, talking about Mrs. Cathey's eyelashes and how his favorite subject at school was recess... Lucas charging me to walk the plank but watch out for sharks, promoting me to "mate" to his captain on the front porch ship... talking to and feeding "Bryan", watching movies together, and going for a snow-ice after school. 

Tapes of driving them back and forth to school so that I could hear the laughter and excitement, the anger and frustration, getting a pulse on their friendships and their homework schedules.  Dropping them off in my pajamas... yup... honking jingle bells with the horn and turning up Pavoratti on the stereo with the roof back on the car... starting 30 seconds before I stopped the car in the morning with a loud blessing ["The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.] - watching the eyes roll as they exited the vehicle as quickly as possible.  Kneeling at their bedsides after they fell asleep and praying over them... sitting outside their bedroom doors and weeping over them as I prayed for them in their teens.  Basketball and hockey, prom dresses and dates, suits and dates, watching courtships, healing break-ups, fighting rebellions, celebrating successes, applauding great friendships, overhearing my mistakes and rehearsing my apologies.  Making room on my full-size bed for 3 lanky teenagers to one-by-one come in and just hang out and talk and laugh.  Rooms full of sharp-minded debaters with strong opinions and well-constructed arguments... conversions, spiritual growth spurts and spiritual growing pains, God-moments... lots of God-moments.

My nest isn't empty because my children's lives have so fully touched mine - they never really leave.

Secondly, Jon is still here.  Can I get a hearty "PRAISE GOD!!"  Had the enemy had his way, he would have stolen our hope, killed our commitment, and destroyed our marriage.  But God... I think those are two of my favorite words in Scripture.  But God stepped in and started tearing down and building... and He's never stopped tearing down and building.  Jon is the only person with skin on that has the same context of family rituals, vacations, memories, dreams, struggles, relationships, churches.  We've walked together, taught together, learned together, raised kids together, hiked together, fought together, travelled together, prayed together, worshipped together, loved together, built this nest together. 

My nest isn't empty because I share it with my best friend.

And finally, I'm never alone.  I sat at lunch today (seemingly by myself), but like the little 5-year-old, incessantly chatting about the state of my day and the state of my heart.  Father sat with easy delight, listening to me, "yesing" me, and loving me.  For a few moments, I switched places with my children.  Lord, thank you for blessing and keeping us.  Thank you for making Your face to shine upon us and for being so incredibly gracious to us.  Thank you for turning Your face toward us. Thank you for Your peace.  I thanked Him for filling my nest with His presence, and then I once again committed my "nest" back to Him for His use and for His glory.  Frankly, I've been a steward of the nest... so really it's not up to me whether it is full or empty.  It is full because God doesn't really do empty.  In His presence is fullness of joy... for of His fullness we have all received and grace upon grace... His right hand is full of righteousness...He is full of grace and truth... He is full of compassion... He is full of glory... and out of His fullness, He fills us with His presence, with joy, with wisdom, with knowledge, with faith, with power, with assurance, with grace, with love... His fullness is the fullest and we are abundantly filled.  No empty nest here...

My nest isn't empty because He has filled it with Himself.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

A Burning Day

     There’s a scene in one of the J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" books where Harry is alone in Professor Dumbledore’s office.  He meets Fawkes, a Phoenix, for the first time.  While he is admiring him, Fawkes bursts into flame and becomes an ash heap.  Harry freaks a bit, and Dumbledore comes in.  Dumbledore tells Harry that Phoenix’s go through seasons… they burst into flames and then they are reborn from the ashes.  He says to Harry, “Pity you had to see him on a burning day.”

     A burning day.  I've been thinking Christian's are Phoenix-like.  The first "burning day" is our salvation.  By God's magnificent grace we are moved to the place of faith.  In a moment, we die and are regenerated, a new creation from the ashes of sin and death.  Witnesses of such a transformation are dumbfounded.  Some appalled.  But we rise.  And we begin again.

     But I think I continually experience "burning days".  And I often want to say to those around me - "Pity you had to see me on a burning day."  I don't appear to be at my best.  So, for the most part... I withhold my burning experiences.  I dodge witnesses.  This has been my recent modus operandi.  I actually set apart today as a "burning day."  In my mind, it's a needful, yet painful thing.  The meter on my heart and head registers full.  There's no space left for another emotion, another "to do", another should, must, want, or would.  It's almost paradoxical for it's not the right kind of fullness.  It's a fullness that is empty.  Just stuff.  A hodgepodge of pent up emotions unprocessed, of to-do lists left undone, of duty piled upon grief.  It requires a good emptying.  Or a burning.

     Romans 12:1 says, "I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship."  Recently I've had my attention drawn to the command to keep the Sabbath holy.  My pastor has earnestly taught on what he has termed "Gospel Rest" - sabbathing. 

     I think my Sabbaths are burning days.  For me, a burning day is Gospel rest.  It is my spiritual act of worship.  It's a burning sacrifice followed by a resurrection.  It means throwing my hands up in repentance and surrender, wetting the wood of the cross with my tears, falling on the altar of God's grace, and trusting as God burns up my "flesh" in the truth of the Gospel... the truth that says "Come to Me... and I will give you rest.  Take My yoke upon you - not the world's yoke, not your own, but Mine - and learn from Me."  It's the truth that bears a cross and births a disciple; the truth that His grace is sufficient; the truth that Jesus is My highest joy and my deepest satisfaction; the truth that there is no rest for My soul apart from Him and that apart from Him I can do absolutely nothing of eternal significance.

     Like Fawkes on his burning day, rising from the ashes follows.  In wonder I will be able to get to my feet... smaller... more clumsy... more fragile... and more dependent.  But I will be at rest in Him, having "calmed and quieted my soul" (Psalm 131:2a) in the certainty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and growing toward the next burning day.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Happy Anniversary... More Than Happy!

27 years today. I've been thinking about marriage all week. And if there is anything I'm more and more sure of, it is marriage really is about sanctification. Jon and I weren't Christians when we first married. We're the first to admit we got off to a rocky start. But here's the thing... every year that passes is one more reminder that we aren't the same people who got married in 1984. God has used countless circumstances ranging from the births of our children to job moves and job losses to friendships to the baggage we each brought to our relationship - all used to conform us to the image of His Son.

But this morning I'm thinking that of all the tools the Holy Spirit has wielded in my life for my good... Jon has been the most effective one. Every good and perfect gift comes from the Father and he is certainly the perfect choice for me. Because of our vast differences, we both have been forced to change... to move toward one another on things that we would otherwise handle in completely different ways. Our love for Christ and our love for one another has demanded that we relinquish our own "rights".

I recently had an epiphany. I've not been able to articulate it in a way that means anything to anyone but me. I only share it here because it becomes part of my (our) story and I think it's an example of the way God works in marriage. He uses time to blow us away. Our family was faced with some major changes a couple years ago. Without going into details, one of the events shut me down emotionally. And then, like life often does, events piled up on one another and I read my life through the lens of self-loathing. Because of that, I started frantically looking for things to prove I wasn't as worthless as I felt. I was writing - my manuscript mysteriously disappeared from the planet. Jon suggested that I get a job. At one point, I had 15 resumes out and not one bite. Ministry had been completely haulted. I could go on... In the middle of it, I had determined that God had given me "one talent" and had taken it away because I messed up somewhere. The elusive mistake was the problem - the whole mess had started because I did something that I truly believed God had asked me to do - it just didn't turn out the way I expected it to turn out. In the end, I found myself with LOTS of solitude and LOTS of anonymity - which I interpreted this way: God has rightfully shelved a useless tool.

And then there is this epiphany...

I recently read an excerpt from a puritan dude named William Law. It's flowery and lengthy, but the paraphrase is something like this: "Those who have no particular employment, that have time on their hands and greater liberty to live for themselves are under a greater obligation to live wholly unto God in all things. Their freedom lays them under a greater necessity to choose and do the best things. They are the ones of whom much will be required because much is given to them. Their duty is to make wise use of their liberty, to devote themselves to God, aspire to holiness, endeavor to do good works, and to please God. God has given them the "5 talents" since He has given them time and freedom, has enriched them with financial stability, leaving them with seemingly "nothing to do" but to make the best use of their giftings, blessings, and their short lives. He has given them liberty to serve Him and their neighbors, to imitate the great servants of God, to study, to be sanctified, and to set no bounds on their love and gratitude to the bountiful Author of all these blessings."

My husband's care of me has become to me the sweetest gift of sanctification. God has used Jon\'s faithful stewardship of his own gifts and callings, to put me in a position of "no particular employment" - to now have the liberty to follow hard after the God who created me and serve Him with a fuller obligation, a 5-talent responsibility. Because Jon loves me and has taken our roles seriously these 27 years, because he has granted me the gift of staying home with my children, because he has faithfully loved me in my feeble attempts of submission, God has led us to this place, this time. He has moved me from "worthless servant with no talent" to a servant at liberty to serve her God, her husband, her family, and her church/community with 5 talents. He has set in my heart an urgency as I approach my "Jubilee" birthday - to make use of the time left to glorify God and to submit my "talents" for the gospel. All good gifts come from God, but God has soveriegnly ordained for me that many of them were to come through my husband. I recognize that more today than ever.

When I look back on the last 27 years, Jon's constant care of me is God's grace to me. If my life were a movie, it would be titled, "The Many Faces of Denise". Every five years my husband wakes up to a new woman. And not always a well-adjusted one. :) And there are times that he has been downright infuriating, but I've always trusted Christ in him. Though I've experienced waves of insecurity, Jon is a covenant keeper. Though we've faced financial uncertainty, Jon is a trustworthy, faithful provider. Though I physically have morphed to something other than what he married, he still wants me. When I've been emotionally crippled, he has not run out on me in frustration or confusion. When I've been judgmental and self-righteous, he has forgiven me and received me back. When I've been too afraid to choose, he has chosen with me. When I've finally found courage, he has stood with me.

Today, if someone were to ask me, "What is the greatest gift God has ever given you?" I would first say "He rescued me at the cross because He delighted in me." And I would add, "And then He gave me Jon Dorminy." I'm a better lover of God because God loves me. And because Jon loves me. 27 years of sanctifying love. God-ordained, grace-filled, incomprehensible saving, sanctifying love.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

When Theology Becomes Doxology

I love musicals. I recently savored “Les Miserables” via DVR. The music builds along with the plot. At one point, the lives of all the characters collide and the music seems to do the same. Part after part is added until there is this culmination of voices and music, crescendos and cymbals… if you’re like me… it’s the moment you anticipate and your inner core resonates and exults in the moment. It’s the portion of the musical where you join in, where your own heart has met with the story and the story becomes real. I love that!

Our church has been studying through the book of Romans together for about a year. After 11 chapters of Paul building doctrine on doctrine, truth on truth, we reached 11:33-36. Those four little verses burst off the page – the culminating musical moment, crescendos and cymbals – the point where truth breaks into praise, the point where theology becomes doxology. One verse away from the “therefore” that takes us from precept to praise to practicum.

And really, that’s the way discipleship probably ought to work. We discover what God wants us to know and believe and at some point we have a Luke 10:21 moment. The point where Jesus says [and this is a very loose paraphrase] “YES! She gets it!” My “aha” moments when the Spirit blows away the dark clouds of ignorance and my eyes see truth as something I really can lay hold of. But I think I’ve been skipping a step. Jesus rejoiced when the disciples “got it.” I tend to want to get truth and run straight to the doing. But Paul doesn’t do that. He expounds and then is overwhelmed by the person of God, the heights and depths of His wisdom and grace and mercy and power. He breathes in the wonder of it and exhales compulsory praise. Where is THAT moment in our discipleship? The moment right before we obey. The “aha” moments where Jesus says to us (like he did to Peter) over and over again: “Blessed are you… for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My Father who is in heaven.” Ever had one of those times where you thought, “You MUST be the Christ, the Son of the Living God… because I’m way to thick skulled to have come to this on my own.” Well… maybe I’m alone in that. But when I do have those moments… I shouldn’t just rush to the practicum. I should take some time to wonder at Him, to be blown away by His willingness to condescend to speak to me, to explain to me, to have mercy on me; to behold God who alone knows and understands, creates and works through all things.

Yes, the practicum must come. But obedience isn’t obedience if it isn’t based upon truth. And truth is best obeyed when our heart is in an attitude of awe and dependence upon the One who revealed it to us in the first place. If I skip the doxology, the practicum might be more performance/works based than true theology lived out by the Spirit. When God reveals Himself and His salvation and His ways to our finite little hearts, it is a mercy to us. And sometimes He does that precept upon precept, her e a little, there a little. And each truth builds on another and then one day the AHA comes, the culminating musical moment of the crescendos of truth and cymbals of Spirit-power pound within us. Inner applause should erupt and melt into awe inspired obedience. I’m thinking to be a faithful disciple… I really shouldn’t skip the beat of praise.


Copyright 2011 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Spurgeon and Nic

C. H. Spurgeon: “I have to wonder that I do not believe Christ more and equally wonder that I am privileged to believe in Him at all – to wonder that I do not love Him more, and equally to wonder that I love Him at all – to wonder that I am not holier and equally to wonder that I have any desire to be holy at all considering what a polluted, debased, depraved nature I find still within my soul notwithstanding all that Divine Grace has done in me! If God were ever to allow the fountains of the great deeps of depravity to break up in the best man that lives, he would make as bad a devil as Satan himself is. I care nothing for what these boasters say concerning their own perfections – I feel sure that they do not know themselves, or they could not talk as they often do! There is tinder enough in the saint who is nearest to heaven to kindle another Hell if God should but permit a spark to fall upon it. In the very best of men, there is an infernal and well-near infinite depth of depravity! Some Christians never seem to find this out. I almost wish that they might not do so, for it is a painful discovery for anyone to make – but it has the beneficial effect of making us cease from trusting in ourselves and causing us to glory only in the Lord.

“Why should Christ ever have loved us… when at His table, we often have wandering thoughts. Even in our faith, we often find a mixture of unbelief. Even when we love Him, we grieve that we do not love Him more. Even when we are closest to Him in communion, we have to smite our breast and mourn that we do not enjoy the nearness we might have, and ought to have for, after being so greatly loved by Christ, we ought to be sinless! Under such obligations to Christ as we have, we ought to be wholly sanctified – spirit, soul, and body – and never have a wandering thought or an unholy desire. But that we are not what we ought to be is clear. And the wonder is that Jesus Christ should ever have laid down His life for such miserable ‘friends’ as we have proven ourselves to be!

…I do not know what you, beloved, say concerning this theme upon which I have been speaking, but I think you will agree with me when I say that, to me, the superlative point of the love of Christ is that He laid down His life for me, unworthy as I have been since I have been His friend.”

Spurgeon’s words so resonate in me today. I have surely proven myself to be a “miserable friend” of Jesus. I have been offended by my own internal state as of late. When I lay my paper-doll self next to the prototype of all I long to be in Him – frankly I want to tear her apart. Why? Because what I know is way more than I practice and what I don’t know is way more that I long to know. Before I get a bunch of emails and Facebook messages about how I’m too hard on myself or how I need to live under grace and that the Christian life isn’t a “list of do’s”… let me make this point. It is the grace of God that has so brilliantly exposed my sin and my lack and has reminded me what a miserable friend I am. It’s the loving thing for Jesus to show me. I’ve had more examples than I have the space to name here (just this week) of what I’m not and yet what Christ has paid for me to be.

I’ve been studying John 3… “You must be born again.” In one of Paul’s letters, he urges us to examine ourselves to make certain that we are in the faith. I’ve been pushed into self-examination by Jesus’ words to Nicodemus. (Maybe he wouldn’t mind if I call him Nic.) I don’t think a believer can read those words without becoming her own fruit inspector. There are a few living, breathing on-fire-for-the-gospel believers around me who don’t put limits on God. In fact, I don’t think they even see any limits. They seem to live habitually outside of their own imperfections. They have learned that it’s not about them, but about Christ. And they have learned that in Him all things are possible. It frees them up to walk courageously, to share boldly, to pray graciously and powerfully, to stand fearlessly.

Nic at Night. He’s got some questions. The first question is one that Jesus’ reads in his heart – he doesn’t even voice it. It is “how can I get into the Kingdom of God?” Nic has limits. And I’m not sure he knew it. I’ve been a Pharisee of Pharisees. I remember what it’s like to take my piddly righteousness to God and expect the Holy Spirit seal of approval – the stamp in my spiritual passport. Nic probably came with a mental list detailing his goodness, his hard work – and hoped for an answer like “great job, Nic – keep doing what you’re doing – you’re on the right track. Work hard, pray hard, minister hard and you’ll make it in.” Deep down my hard-working pharisaical self knew it was never enough – but truthfully, my pride wanted it to be. I think that’s why Nic was struggling with the question. What the heck?! Why do we continue to think – even once we have entered the kingdom of God – that our piddly righteousness will get us by… that God is pleased with whatever He gets from us? Our presumptions upon His grace are scandalous at best and blasphemous at worst. But let’s flip the coin – go from Pharisee to Pauper – where our weaknesses and “I can’ts” become our limits. Talk about prideful presumption! To go from “hey, God, look at all I can do for You!” to “sorry, God, I’m incapable of being used by You…” - both presume the same thing. Both start from the foundation that I have something to do with it at all. The gospel starts with the truth that I have nothing to contribute in the first place – that I am in desperate need.
The truth of the matter is… I’m still in desperate need. I can’t and I shouldn’t bring anything to the table but my yieldedness and the spiritual blessings in Christ that He has installed in this new creation of His. In Him and Him alone we have everything we need for life and godliness in the true knowledge of Him who called us by His OWN glory and excellence. In Him we are more than conquerors. In Him we have overcome the world. In Him we are slaves of righteousness and not to sin. Oh to trust the fullness of the gospel every moment for my own sanctification and for His empowerment in the spreading of His gospel and glory in the world around me! Oh to trust the fullness of the gospel of His grace in destroying all fear and every self-imposed limit for the furtherance of His will! Even as my fingers are typing, there is a fountain welling up in me that says “YES! Now! Go! Be who I say you are – do what I tell you to do – trust in My Presence and Power – I will not fail you.”
God spoke a word to me a couple years ago through someone at a writer’s conference. The man said, “If you don’t do you, Denise, “you” doesn’t get done and God’s creation is incomplete. What are you waiting for?” I wonder if I have been systematically attempting to tear down barriers that aren’t really there. Spiritually tilting at windmills and fabricating excuses. In trying to tear them down, I’ve built them. It’s a bit like wading through rubble only to find that the rubble you moved has walled you in. The last trumpet blew, the wall fell and instead of charging in and taking the territory, I used the rubble to wall myself in proclaiming “what a mess – I can’t move through that… I’ve just got a measly little sword… I have no credentials… I’m the spiritual runt.” Wow. Oughta be thoroughly ashamed of myself for even entertaining the idea that God wouldn’t put the resources in me to fully meet whatever He’s called me to. Watchman Nee said, “The greatest of His demands upon us only shows how confident He is that the resources He has put within us are fully enough to meet them. God does not command what He will not perform; but we must throw ourselves back on Him for the performance.”

On my trip to OK I had dinner with a friend I’ve not seen in many years. We used to minister together. He recalled some of the things I did during that time. When I left, I found myself wondering “What happened to her? Where did the bold, dare-for-Christ, thump-a-prisoner for Jesus (that’s another story), love-the-lost, stop-drop-pray-n-preach girl go?” I taught and ministered myself right into complacency. I forgot that it’s God’s reputation, not our own, that makes us outrageously brave. I guess I got caught up in fruit polishing rather than fruit bearing.

This past weekend, I was working at an event our church sponsored. I chose registration so I would purposefully have contact with people. I prayed that God would allow me to taste a little of the freedom in ministry that I buried back there; that I would have a little daring if given the opportunity. I saw a spark. A lady came through my line with her little nephew. She had that “I’m about to burst into tears look” on her face. I registered her son, but something just really bothered me. I asked her if there was something she needed. She said, “Would you pray for me? My brother died last night and I just didn’t know what to do except to take his son to this today… he was looking forward to it.” Seemed such a small thing for such a big need, but I stopped – got out from behind my table, put my arms around her neck, and prayed for her right there. And when she headed off with her nephew, I think I heard God say “there she is!” There was the part of myself that’s been dormant. Not dead and gone. Just hidden in fear somewhere. It was nice to see her again. I hope she’ll show up more often.



Copyright 2010 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Christmas Poem

In the fullness of time, Fullness came

In tiniest form, in smallest frame.

Born to offer blind their sight,

Into the darkness shone great Light.

Infancy bore Deity in one breath.

Behold Love of incomparable depth!

Manger held what grave could not,

The Life of a Lamb without spot.

His cry in the night, a trumpet sound –

“God with us – the lost are found!”

Shepherd and wise, young and old,

All enslaved to sins death hold,

Bow the knee and look to Him,

This Christ born in Bethlehem.

House of Bread held Bread of Life,

Savior in sinful arms held tight.

Sent from Father to man depraved

Son rejected, scorned, hated – to save

The highest, lowest, needy and great

From slavery, fear and sin’s earned fate.

For you and me, born to die,

God with skin on hung up high

On tree of battered, rugged wood

Trimmed with water, nails, and blood.

Living water gushing forth,

Sweeping up hearts in lavish force,

All caught up in waves of love

Pouring out from Father above.

Behold the Christmas Lamb, the Child

Who died to save these hearts so wild,

To bring us in, call us His own,

To rule our hearts, His humble throne.

Denise


Copyright 2009 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Running On Empty (Part 3) - Can I Get An Amen?

So he arose and ate and drank, and went in the strength of the food forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mountain of God.  The he came there to a cave and lodge there; and behold, the word of the LORD came to him, and He said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Have you ever heard God ask that of you?  “What are you doing here, child?”

Elijah walked for 40 days apparently in the wrong direction.  This cave doesn’t seem to be where God wanted him to be.  But isn’t it comforting to know that even if we are in the wrong place, God will meet us there?  Or that when we choose our own way, God directs our wayward steps to Himself?

Elijah responded to God like many of us.  Allow me to take a little liberty… “I’ve been working for You, Lord!  I did what You asked me to.  I don’t see anyone else doing this.  I’m the last one standing, and now look what’s happening.”

Don’t you just love the humanity?  I’ve not had my life threatened, but to some degree I get it.  Sometimes my life becomes all about me.  I become a legend in my own mind, chasing the bubbles I myself have blown, and pointing at others as if I’m indispensable.  All my bubbles burst at the pinnacle of my pity parties.  It always feels legitimate in the moment.  [grin] But it doesn’t really explain the way, now does it?  The answer might be a little easier if we just get real.

“What are you doing here, child?  Wonder if God’s response would have been the same if Elijah had simply said, “God, I’m afraid.  I’m tired.  I’m hurt.  I’m a mess.  I think so.  Because the best answer for any attitude is God’s presence.  The best answer in any situation is God’s presence.  God’s answer to Elijah was “Go forth and stand on the mountain before the LORD.”

Need to get your spiritual bearings like me?  Stand before the Lord.  Let Him “get up in your face.”  Let Him reveal Himself you, and let Him reveal yourself to you.  Stand before the Lord and the Lord will make Himself known.  I think Elijah had witnessed God’s miraculous power so much that he might have been looking for the big stuff.  I think I want the whirlwind, the earthquake, the pyrotechnics.  Sometimes in our unbelief the big stuff is a reminder of how great God truly is.  Elijah was no stranger to God’s omnipotence.  He had recently seen it, experienced it on Mt. Carmel.  Maybe the extraordinary had become ordinary.  Or maybe God was saying to Elijah “You were afraid of a girl; let me teach you about the fear of the Lord.”  Either way, the scripture says God “was not in” any of those.  Rather, Elijah heard God in the sound of a low whisper.  Actually, I like it in the NRSV:  Elijah heard God in the sound of sheer silence.

Dallas Willard said, “Silence is frightening because it strips us as nothing else does, throwing us upon the stark realities of our life.  God can choose to use divine fireworks or solitude and silence to get the message across to His chosen knuckleheads.  Either way we experience Him and reality rubs us raw.  Most recently, I’ve experienced the sheer silence that speaks like thunder.  I’ve experienced the solitude that makes the decibel levels of my heart increase, my thoughts screaming rather than steadily whirring.  And sometimes I hear God speak and feel His presence.  And sometimes, I’m stuck with just me.  Either way “it’s purposeful in God’s hands when we respond like Elijah.”

Elijah “wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.  There came a voice to him… I don’t want to read anything into that statement or over-spiritualize an ordinary chill, so I’m just giving my opinion here… not teaching.  Elijah’s mantle was used a number of times, most often (it seems to me) as a symbol of authority.  It was used a lot like Moses’ staff.  We all know that Moses held the staff, but the authority was God’s.  I believe it to be the same with Elijah’s mantle.  And here I see a sweet picture of submission.  Despite hs continued insistence that he was the lone prophet, Elijah wrapped God’s authority around himself.  And then he heard God speak.  I like the picture even if I’ve stretched to interpret it.  It speaks to my heart in my solitude, in my self-pity, loneliness, self-importance, and even in my shame at times.  His authority is my security blanket.  I can speak my mind boldly, but in the end, His voice comes and I wrap myself in His sovereign Lordship over me and walk forward in His will. 

At first I kicked against my solitude.  Loneliness can usurp an unprepared heart and fill it with self.  Solitude can become a self-imposed prison.  It’s amazing how resourceful we can be in our search to fill silence.  Let me count the ways (they are quite munerous.)  In some sense, I think I resented the means God used to bring me here.  Like Elijah, I expected a different result.  After all, I was obedient, wasn’t I? Shouldn’t fire from heaven, repentance, and refreshing rain have followed?  [picture sheepish grin]  I can be a smug little pouter.  O one ever expects a “wanted” poster when they obey.  But now I’m slowly getting the lesson.  I’ve been the clay shouting out orders at the Potter from the wheel.  My eldest son said something in passing the other day, but God pricked my heart with it.  Paraphrased he said, “I just decided it’s what I’ve been given for now and to let God use it for His purpose.”  Simply profound.  Maybe I’ve been given a divine “time out”.  Solitude and silence for the purpose of course correction.  Running on empty, full of self, I actually ran to the Mount of God.  I’ve grown small and quiet.  My resentment has  melted into pliable resolve.  I’m striving to rest on the wheel.  For now, it’s what I’ve been given and I intend to remain snuggly wrapped in His mantle of authority until He moves me on from here.  No  more running on empty.


Copyright 2009 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Me and Tertius

If you were waiting for Part 3 on Elijah... I'm getting there, but not today. Lately, I've been looking at some guys that aren't all that familiar to me. One of them is a guy named Tertius. The Bible doesn't talk much about him. He's sort of a one-liner. Well, here it is: "I, Tertius, who write this letter, greet you in the Lord." Romans 16:22

So I was just thinking about Tertius, probably a Roman - maybe even one of Paul's "children" in the Lord. What a privilege it must have been to pen the letter to the Romans as Paul "moved by the Holy Spirit, spoke from God." Maybe Paul sat in chains, physically looking at shadows and spiritually seeing clearer than daylight. Maybe Paul paced in shackles in high drama as he preached to one. A scene from a movie comes to mind. In "Amadeus", Mozart is lying on his death bed. Music is flowing from his mind to Salieri's pencil. Salieri is frantically trying to get the music on paper, but he is far less capable of that kind of notation. He can't hear the same music Mozart hears between his ears. He can't anticipate... and as Mozart starts to fall asleep in his sickly stupor, Salieri can't wait... he pushes, prods for more, hungry for music that he can't know apart from Mozart. I can still see his eyes in that film... the desperation to get the next phrase, the next note.

I wonder if Tertius looked like that. Trying to anticipate the next word from God to Paul to his pencil. Blown away by the music of the gospel that filled the room, his mind trying to wrap around truth far beyond himself. I wonder if Paul stopped for dinner. I wonder if he got interrupted and Tertius grew impatient. "You can't stop there!! Who will set me from from the body of this death? Ignore the knock at the door...!" I wonder if he was just simply awed. Did the presence of the Holy Spirit in the room make prayer and praise compulsory? I look at the end of the letter... I have some curiosity about it. It was probably Paul... but I wouldn't be surprised if Tertius added it out of pure marvel over the revelation on parchment before him. "Now to Him who is able to establish you according to my gospel and the preaching of Jesus Christ..." It's the cymbals at the end of the composition.

But here's the thing: he just put something on paper... obediently... humbly... and we don't know that he ever heard how the letter was received. He couldn't have known it would be a part of New Testament Canon. All the letters Paul had written previously, he had written with his own hand. But Paul used Tertius for God's Constitution of Faith - a doctrinal treatise of staggering proportion. Truth that moved the hearts of men and women throughout the ages... including mine. Luther was changed through a verse in Romans 1. I was changed forever by a verse in Romans 10. Tertius penned my salvation... I'm grateful for his obedience.

My words aren't divinely inspired. If the book in my head is ever completed, it won't be anything other than words from a changed heart, probably riddled with flaws. But I think some of the things I pen flow from a heart of obedience. And maybe Tertius has given me just enough hope to believe that God can use my obedience to make a difference... even if I never see it. And really, shouldn't it be enough to be a "ready writer" for the sheer pleasure of God's company in the process? Obediently... humbly... sharing the gospel with my life and words as I sit in the room listening to a God who loves me enough to stoop low enough to whisper to me... even me.


Copyright 2009 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Running On Empty (Part 2)

Last we left Elijah, he was a little fed up and having a much needed rest. Then the Scripture tells us this:

“He lay down and slept under a juniper tree; and behold, there was an angel touching him, and he said to him, “Arise, eat.”  Then he looked and behold, there was at his head a bread cake [baked on] hot stones, and a jar of water. So he ate and drank and lay down again. The angel of the LORD came again a second time and touched him and said, “Arise, eat, because the journey is too great for you.” So he arose and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mountain of God.”

I told you that we would get unstuck at this place under the broom tree – that place where we’ve had enough and it’s just too much “ that place that fear drives us and hopes to keep us captive“  that place of both self-loathing and self-importance. We don’t “unstuck” ourselves.

God sent Elijah an angel to touch him. I love it when Scripture makes me laugh, and granted, you probably won’t find this in commentaries by great theologians, but I’m no theologian¦ so take this or leave it.  It’s just my own interpretation. The Hebrew word for “touched” [naga’] means both “to touch or to strike”.. When I first read this passage, it’s easy to envision the tender touch on the shoulder by some sweet little angel. Sleepyhead Elijah awakes rubbing his eyes to find a jug of water and warm bread, eats heartily and lies down for another nap. But I don’t think it was like that if Elijah and I are anything alike. I think an exhausted, dirty, frustrated, depressed man hit the dirt under a tree in hopes that he would not wake up. And then some angel had to come along and ruin the plan. Yup. I think Elijah might have got a holy “smack”.  It takes more than a touch to wake me when I don’t want to be woken. I think it’s possible that angel struck Elijah but good in a holy “GET UP.” But that’s just me.

The angels says “Arise and eat.” Let me ask you something: if you awoke to breakfast in bed, would you get up? The word says there at his head were fresh baked bread and a cool jug o’ water. Would you get to your feet? I don’t think he meant just “sit up”.  The word means “to  stand up”.   But we aren’t told that Elijah stands; only that he ate and drank and laid back down. Reminds me of a stubborn teenager.

It looks as though God patiently allows Elijah a bit more rest. The angel comes a second time. Smack. “Elijah, arise and eat.” But this time, he gets the longer version. I do that. “Luke, it’s time to get up.” 2nd time, “Luke, it’s time to get up. You are going to be late for class.” [grin] The longer version is the why. “Elijah, get up and eat because the journey is too great for you.”

We’ve seen that word for “too great” already. When Elijah whined to God when he arrived at the tree, he said “It is enough!” It is too much! The angel uses Elijah’s complaint. “Arise and eat because the journey is just too much for you.” I like the assumption in this verse. It says, “You are going on a journey whether you want to or not” and you can do it on empty, in your own strength, or you can do it on full, in Mine. Either way, you are going on a journey.” That’s the Denise version. This time he “arose and ate and drank.”

In my situation, I didn’t have an angel smack me on the back of the head. Rather, the Holy Spirit did it in His own way. I need a holy smack every now and then. Maybe you’re one of the pliable sheep. I try to be, but sometimes I can be pretty stiff-necked. A smack on the back of the head will at least make me bow. I find it interesting that God leaves us to ourselves sometimes so that we can see how inept we are without Him. And then the Holy Spirit steps up to reinforce the lesson! Though painful, I’m grateful that God doesn’t always heed our pleas. Some of the things that I’ve asked for in the heat of my hurt and discouragement would have had cataclysmic results if God had granted them. Praise Him for His mercy!

But right here is the answer to moving on from the broom tree. “Arise and eat and drink.”

#1 Arise: Stand up. The Hebrew word can also mean “be established, fixed”. In other words, stand up and get your spiritual footing. Two verses came to mind when I read this. The first is found in Revelation 3:2-3a in Jesus' letter to the church at Sardis. “Wake up, and strengthen the things that remain, which were about to die, for I have not found your deeds completed in the sight of My God. So remember what you have received and heard; and keep it, and repent.” Sometimes we just have to get up and start again, doing what we know God has already said to do. Remember what He said to you before all of this happened? Keep it. Repent and move on. And Hebrews 12:12-13 says this: “Therefore, strengthen the hands that are weak and the knees that are feeble, and make straight paths for your feet, so that the limb which is lame may not be put out of joint, but rather be healed.” Check out the definition for “weak” hands. “To let pass, to pass by, to neglect, to relax, to loose, to disregard.” “Feeble” means “to kneel down”. Sure describes me sometimes. Ever feel like you’ve fallen and you can’t get up? So tired, so weak that things just pass you by? You become apathetic and just relax your spiritual grip so much that you disregard what’s important? God is telling us to get a grip and stand up. If I’m going to be on my knees, it needs to be for prayer, not apathy. Sometimes, even when we've been obedient, like Elijah had been, we can get burned by other people. Fear sets in and we arrive at the broom tree. It's hard to take the next step - we don't want to hurt again. We're tired and gun shy. Maybe we're shaking in our boots and refusing to move. "Deer in the headlights" disciples waiting for the next bus to run us over - sometimes it's even a church bus. That's where I've been recently. Injury in obedience doesn't necessarily encourage us to take the next step (unless it's to run in the wrong direction). It takes faith to stand up and strengthen your hands and knees and get your feet moving on the straight path again. That's one of the reasons Hebrews 12 is prefaced with Hebrews 11: "And without faith it is impossible to please God..." (v6) We have to believe "He is"... He is God and He is good - a rewarder of those who seek Him. Fear forces us to forget God is faithful. (I apologize for all the f's.)

#2 Arise and Eat: I love a warm Panera Bread French baguette. I love it so much I can imagine the smell. It’s a delightful craving. I love the smell of chocolate too, but fresh baked bread will bend my will. Jesus said in John 6:35 “I am the Bread of Life; he who comes to Me will not hunger.” Did you know that the fresh baked bread in the tabernacle was called  “the Bread of the Presence”. We talk frequently about the Scripture (or Word) being bread to us. After all, man does not live by bread alone, but on every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God. Yes, the written word is our manna, and we should daily eat from it. But I want to stress here what God has stressed to me. HE is the Bread of Life. His Presence is life to us. There is no life in the Scriptures without the breath or life of God in them. Ask an unbeliever how the word tastes and they’ll tell you,  “not very filling; dry and bland; leaves a bitter aftertaste." But to the believer, the word is filling and satisfying and tasty. Why? Because the Presence of God, the Holy Spirit, brings it to life for you and me. “You will make known to me the path of life; in Your Presence there is fullness of joy; in Your right hand there are pleasures forever.” Psalm 16:11

When we eat of His Presence, when we have an intimate relationship with Him (abide in Him, love Him, converse with Him, listen to Him), He makes known to us the path of life and the journey is not “too much” for us anymore. But try 40 days in a spiritual wilderness without Him: it ain’t pretty. Try just one day... it’s enough to make you find a broom tree.

#3 Arise and eat and drink: There’s a particular brand of water that I love (comes in a rectangular bottle). I love it because it’s smooth. There’s no “metal”  taste; it seems taste-less. When the bottle is ice cold, I’d rather have that than a coke (and that’s saying a lot!). I also have this attraction to bodies of water. Streams, lakes, oceans. (I like to look AT them and be NEAR them; not be IN them or ON them.) Maybe it’s because the day I surrendered my life to Jesus, I was sitting by a lake. But even before, there was something about being on the beach in Florida or sitting by a stream that was soothing to me.

I love that Jesus followed his John 6 revelation as the Bread of Life, with John 7’s announcement. “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ˜From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’  By this He spoke of the Spirit, whom those who believed in Him were to receive.” Ever been so long in a spiritual wilderness that you were absolutely parched for lack of His Presence? Maybe you don’t take detours like I have. Think of some time when you were in the heat and had to go a long time without that bottle of cold water we just talked about. Imagine someone binding your hands, sitting you on the hot pavement in full sun in Phoenix, AZ mid-summer with an ice cold bottle of water right within reach, but unable to get the cap off. That’s what it feels like once you drink from Him and then wander off on your own for too long. Living water is always within reach. Jesus says, “Are you thirsty? Come to Me and drink.” He says, “Be filled with the Spirit.” Bread and water... the necessities. Without them, we die. In them is life. IN JESUS ALONE IS LIFE and He is enough, sometimes too much!

God's answer to my dilemma was this: Stand up and get your spiritual footing in Me. Eat of My Presence every time you wake and throughout the day. Abide in Me and let Me teach you to love Me. Feast on My word and don’t neglect what I say. Listen. Meditate on My word to you and remind yourself of what I have already commanded you and promised you. Empty yourself of self-loathing and self-importance – and be filled with the Holy Spirit. Why? The journey is too much for you.

These are the things Jesus as spoken to me if I want to leave the broom tree. And I have to leave it.  There’s a journey one way or the other. Do we want to run on empty? Or make the journey in His fullness. There’s a wilderness to come out of and a mountain ahead to climb and an “unlearning”  in the future for Elijah… and for me. (See part 3)


Copyright 2009 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Running On Empty (Part 1)

"And he [Elijah] was afraid and arose and ran for his life and came to Beersheba, which belongs to Judah, and left his servant there. But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree; and he requested for himself that he might die, and said, 'It is enough; now, O LORD, take my life, for I am not better than my fathers." (1 Kings 19:3-4)

If not for Chapter 18, we probably we wouldn't even question Elijah's response to a death threat. God has defeated 450 prophets of Baal and shown up before Elijah's very eyes in great faithfulness and might. He made a public display of the people's gods that were not gods. Elijah brought the prophets down to the brook Kishon and "slew them there." Then, if that weren't enough, he stood on top of Carmel and prayed and watched a three year drought end in a heavy shower. And if that weren't enough to shock the reader - the hand of the LORD was on him, and he outran Ahab to Jezreel. Ahab by chariot - Elijah on foot. 20 miles. Smoked him!

So we question why Elijah would run in fear over Jezebel's death threat. Don't those experiences with God merit unabashed trust?
Sure they do. God is always worthy of our whole trust even when He doesn't show up with fire and rain. So what's up with this guy? From fire to flood to flight.

I was led to this passage of Scripture because in recent months I “ran” and found myself stuck. I asked God to give me an example of someone feeling the same way, someone similar in personality or maybe circumstance. 1 Kings 19’s Elijah was His answer. Frankly, I was hoping for Mary or John the Apostle. [grin] To a much simpler degree, I faced (in concept) some of what Elijah went through. He delivered “OUCH” messages to hard-hearted authorities. Some of his language and behavior might have seemed questionable to those who witnessed it. (ex. 1 Kings 17:21, 18:27) He wasn’t a popular friend and spent a lot of time in isolation. God used him to miff people and to even bring misery. Ahab hated to see him coming. For his obedience, Elijah was dubbed “Troubler”,  and handed a death threat from a wild woman.

I wonder how he felt? I felt rejected, despised, and insecure. I felt what God had asked of me was too much for me because my obedience touched on my biggest fears. I was so certain in the beginning that I had clearly heard God’s voice. I was cautious and prayerful. In the middle of it, I felt empowered by Him, emboldened and anxious all at once. But when I had finished what God asked, there came doubt, fear, and self-loathing. My obedience seemed only to stir up the matter, rather than resolve it. I seemed to be the conduit for strife and pain. How could obedience result in such things? I was perceived a “troubler”.

Elijah does exactly what I would do. He reacts with the same drama that I sometimes do - privately before God. (I’ve never hidden the fact that I can be a spiritual brat.) He despairs. Gets fed up. "It is enough", he says. The Hebrew actually says "It's too much!" There it is... ever feel like it's just too much... whatever "it" is? “It”  is different for everyone. Huge or minute, we can still end up at the juniper tree begging for relief, although maybe not to the point of death.

Why fear after such faith? Expectations. I did a God-thing. I expected God would, and then they would, and that God wouldn’t allow me to be rejected or hurt or shamed. Instead, my obedience seemed to stir things up, caused more strife, brought more pain, I was marked a “troubler”. So I ran. The Hebrew word for trouble is  akar. It means “to roil”. Not a word we use often. According to Webster, to roil is “to make cloudy or muddy by stirring up; to rile”. It’s what we might call “making waves”.  Apparently, obedience can cause one to be a roil pain. Or be in roil pain. [Oh, don’t groan. You should have anticipated it from someone who loves puns.]

I wonder if Elijah had expectations. “Maybe once the Baal worshipers are gone, God will let it rain. If it rains, maybe Ahab and Jezebel will repent, or at least they’ll leave me be for awhile. If not, maybe God’ll just get ‘em. I don’t know. Somehow I don’t think he expected a “wanted dead or dead” decree. When God doesn’t behave,¦ we get afraid. Somewhere in our service to God, we forget obedience is not about us. We forget that to obey is simply to say “Thy will be done.” Not â “Thy will be done if” or “Thy will be done and then Thou wilt”.  Jesus’ example of obedience was impeccable. He only did what He saw the Father doing. He did nothing of His own initiative. The gospel of John repeats that over and over again. We discover there is but one thing that Jesus did of His own initiative, that was to die. You and I can do nothing apart from Jesus who knows how to obey. It is in Him that we find “Thy will be done.” Period.

Elijah ran to Jezreel in the strength of the Lord. He journeyed to the juniper tree under his own power. “It’s too much!” It’s always too much when, like me, we are equally full of self-loathing and self-importance. Instead of dying to myself, emptying myself and being full in the strength of the Lord, I’m often full of myself and running on empty to the broom tree.
But you know, God didn’t lean over the edge of heaven and say, “OH NO!! SHE RAN!!” Instead, He waited on me to arrive and, like Elijah, He let me have a much needed rest. I call that a holy “shoosh”, a “calm down, child. We’ll talk later.”
What’s the answer for someone sleeping under the broom tree… how do we move on? Shoosh, we’ll talk later.


Copyright 2009 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Fear To Faith

I was with a friend this morning. We were chatting and eating. It is the girlfriend way. We have both been in the same “war” for  months  upon months. She was forced to the front lines. I was the reluctant soldier who joined her. I get an occasional reprieve. She seldom does. Sometimes I feel like God sends me for more supplies, but she is commanded to stay and fight. And what supplies I can bring is really quite minimal.

Today I showed up at the front lines empty handed and she supplied me. She didn’t realize it. Since she’s human, I’m sure there is at least one bone of vanity in her, but I never see it. She’s simply a giver. A servant. An extra miler. I’m in awe sometimes and that awe serves to remind me that I’m seeing Christ at work in her. No one can do that apart from Him, not authentically.

But back to today.

She had three fears that were plaguing her. They were big ones, not little mamby-pamby fears. And they came to life. It was a “fear in your face” moment three times over. She said she went to bed fretting but finally relinquished it all to God. I recognized the desperation. I’ve been taught many times over that desperation is a great motivator for obedience  - that’s why God doesn’t hesitate to use a war or two to push us there. Reliance by trial is a proven method. She realized her impotence to change anything and recognized that the Omnipotent One alone has enough power to either remove her fears or sustain her in the midst of them.
The next morning she woke to find that God had instantly managed all three without any help from her. She laughingly stated, “I should give my fears straight to God more often.” Yeah, we all should. But I realized for her it was a “battle-won-with-war-yet-to-be-done” thing. One of those victories that remind us we’re not dead yet. And those times need to be memorialized. I’m big on marking spiritual “ahas” with physical markers. So today I got my friend a couple of military-style dog tags. One says, “Fear not”.  The other says “Faith” .
“Fear not” is one of God’s favorite things to say to reluctant soldiers. Faith (fully persuaded trust in God) is the active weapon (the “verb”) that destroys all fear. I don’t expect her to wear those tags around her neck;  they’re not very feminine. But I thought she could hang them somewhere as a reminder of today’s victory. A reminder that she can stand and surrender at the same time: taking her stand against the enemy and surrendering to the Most High Commander. One battle won is hope for taking the next hill.

There’s a line I love from a song I can barely remember. It says “It’s Your [God’s] reputation that makes me outrageously brave.”  When I watch God guard His own reputation through promises kept and love conveyed to His own, a spark of bravery is ignited. I got a spark of courage today from a friend whose God was faithful and gracious to give her a win. I’m amply supplied through my friend’s victory. The flag of God’s reputation is flying on her hill. It’s enough to stir even this reluctant soldier to outrageous bravery.


Copyright 2009 Sharon Denise Dorminy

Inventions... and All That Jazz

I play the piano. Not well. I only play for God and me. I’m more of a mathematician than a musician. Jon would love it if I would just pound out some jazzy bent tunes. It’s just not in me. I prefer rhythm and structure. That’s why I love Bach Inventions.

J. S. Bach wrote musical exercises for his students;  they were [BIG PHRASE ALERT!] two-part contrapuntal pieces. He introduced a short music fragment in one voice, then repeated it in the second voice while the first was still playing a counterpoint. An over-simplified way of saying it might be this: the right hand is a couple of measures ahead of the left hand. :) I love them because they require precision and a mild bit of ambidexterity. In short: you have to count. One doesn’t just feel her way through a Bach Invention. It’s learned and the emotion is added later. At least that’s how it is with me.
And I like that.

That’s why life gets me out of sorts sometimes. It’s a bit like a Bach Invention out of sync. Lots of events overlap. The theme is punchy, joyful, rhythmic. As each event plays out, a new one enters in the same key¦ it’s a delight to watch events unfold. Safe, precise, predictable, then the cat leaps on the keyboard. You know what I mean. The key changes and the tune is interrupted with a rhythm that is all out of sorts. (Jon calls this “jazz”) There doesn’t seem to be any reason to it. The math is gone. The syncopation is almost annoying. The notes are offensive. And I get this tic in my right eyelid.
Apparently God has an eclectic musical sense, and a sense of humor. Rhythm and structure can be boring. Bach didn’t send his students out to perform inventions. They were for the classroom. Cantatas and concertos were for the audience.
God is into beauty and variety, crescendos and decrescendos, symmetry and syncopation. It could be a little unnerving for a soloist if the symphony decided to play a U2 song during her Rachmaninoff piece. But sometimes I think God conducts just like that. Brahms’ Lullaby is playing and God throws in a didgeridoo!** Sometimes I want to stop all the music and scream, “What was that!!!?”

But it’s not my music. It’s not my orchestra. I’m not the conductor. I can only play my part and wait on the cat to land. And when the cat lands, maybe I best groove with it than tell it to scram. Maybe I need to get out of the classroom and feel a few jazz rips. Move to the music rather than trying to define it with my own rhythm. Embrace the good and the bad and the in-between, the mild, the major, and magic of it all. Maybe I could learn to be more of a musician than a mathematician, go with the flow rather than dam up His river in me. Would it be so bad to let go of my own rhythm, let the cat dance on the keys, pick up my hands, watch the Conductor and risk a bit of soul for the sake of His invention and all that jazz?

**What’s a didgeridoo? Listen at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8QyL1O6141g&feature=related

Copyright 2009 Sharon Denise Dorminy