Princesschair’s Weblog

There’s a song out right now that says “I wanna live on the other side. . . .” What does that mean? I’m getting it:

We all do things that make us feel awful afterwards. You do. I do. Harsh words spoken, kind words left unsaid, various violations of the ten commandments . . . we all do them. Habitually. Some more than others. This brings on that old familiar pal, guilt. It sticks like sap, and I haven’t found anything on earth that can get it off. Some try to drown it, some try to smoke it out, others seek therapy, others do yoga.

I’m being made aware of the wonder way: the cross. Somebody get Billy on those commercials. Guilt drives me there to the cross now when I screw things up again. That’s the only place where guilt really comes off when I drop it down. My confession–actually saying “I did that” and taking responsibility for it, owning it there at the cross–cleanses the stain and stickiness of guilt right away like Goo Gone. But wait–that’s not all. . .

We get to live on the other side. We get to walk forward INTO the cross to receive God’s forgiveness. See, Jesus took my ugly deed with Him to the grave, buried it, and gives me His righteousness in its place. Sin’s paid for; I’m free of debt. There as I walk through the cross, something is exchanged, and I RECEIVE forgiveness. That in itself is incredibly cool and liberating, but the BEST part comes next: There is life on the other side of the cross, and that’s where things get positively supernatural.

On the other side of the cross is heaven. Eternal life is for now as much as it’s for later. I mean, it started the moment I gave my life to Jesus, right? Benefits galore. For instance, in heaven I have the mind of Christ. I wouldn’t dream of getting p.o.ed when somebody cops an attitude with me; instead I would know how to act in kindness past that person’s rude behavior, and I would do it. I would naturally love them with God’s love so they could know Him. I would be immune to sin and totally responsive to God. In heaven I am victorious over that which formerly got me every time.

Wow! I want to LIVE on the other side. Even here, right now, on this earth, I want to live like I just came from heaven, full of God’s Spirit. I want to touch people and see them healed, because where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty from sickness and disease. Jesus did that. I want to love people and see them melt. I want to give what people need because it’s God’s to give anyway, and my heart is in heaven with Him where my treasure is. I want to trust Him to take care of all the consequences for my obedience to His suggestions. I want to be so full of Him that I ooze His presence and smell like Him, leaving places better by far for having me walk through.

Funny, this is exactly what born again people are completely supposed to do. Rock on. And all from a trip through the cross-wash.

Paul, the kids and I just high-tailed it over to a free concert to see Francesca Battistelli, a new artist who sounds eerily like Sara Bareilles, another new artist. . . one is marketed as Christian, the other isn’t overtly so. Both are Italian girls, sounds like, and both have a driving, happy, bold sound that I happen to like very much. Check out Francesca’s music at her myspace: www.myspace.com/francescabattistelli.

Here’s a shot with my daugher Chloe after the show:

Sara Bareilles’ website is cute, too. Check it out: www.sarabmusic.com

Best prayers for these girls as they go on with it. Fun!

The time has finally come for me to write about my trip to Poland. I’ve had plenty to say, but as simmering sauces thicken as they reduce, so has this life changing experience been for me. Mmm. My life tastes different.

Life in Poland is slower. Maybe it’s because all email, websites, parenting and responsibilities were a trillion miles away, or perhaps because I couldn’t understand a word people were saying, but I was relaxed. You must understand: usually my heart feels like it’s going to explode at any time. Stress consumes me no matter how hard I try to stave it off. There, I had no control, obviously, so I just rolled with whatever. And I loved it. I didn’t know how much until I came home with all sorts of idealistic hopes; within three days I’d abandoned them all, and stood in my kitchen with my heart twisted up in that old familiar strangle hold.

There’s the bad news. The good news is that a new fire burns inside me now, ’cause I’ve been touched by true religion. Caring for widows and orphans and the poor is sacred stuff, possible only by offering yourself with no expectation of return, all for another’s good. It means being a vessel for heaven to touch earth. The Lord God leaves a mighty fine residue when He flows in and through you. It makes the heart squeeze here at home worth it, and assures me that it will not last. I am on a new path of trusting God for real, for everything, and peace will come.

It all started with this book I read on the plane: The Shack, by William P. Young. Touted by Wynnona Judd as responsible for “blowing the door of her soul wide open,” and by Michael W. Smith as a book which makes you “crave the presence of God” intensely, I thought it a worthy read. Oh. Read this. Please. Go to Amazon.com and just get it delivered to your door right now. You will be forever changed, too, as you understand God in ways you always hoped but never expected. He is wonderful, and this open trust in a wonderful God paved the way for me to meet kids with love I knew had to come from Him.

A couple of stories:

Dominika was a wild, unkempt, animalistic child of about five with blonde hair and rotten teeth. The middle child of three there at the children’s home, she pushed away positive attention and preferred only negative. She blew a plastic whistle as we played with the kids in the front lawn, ensuring she was always there in our attentions, if only to wish she’d shut up. . . One night a few others and I came to the little kids’ room to sing to them before bedtime, and there Dominika climbed incessantly over our backs and blew that whistle until I turned and commented to Krista, our translator, “She is an animal, isn’t she?” Both of us knew there was more going on inside her than met the eye, for how she looked at us as she acted so wildly. At one point I stood up and happened to turn around to face her standing there at my eye level on a couch. With a voracious look, she lunged at me, hooked both arms around my neck and both legs around my waist. Instantly, divinely, I understood. She just needed love. I hugged her close and held her for a second, then pulled back to look her in the eye. I sensed a powerful surge go through me into her heart, and I said, “I bless you in Jesus’ name.” She stilled immediately and looked deeply into my eyes. Noticing the change in her, I smiled and said breathlessly, “Yes. I bless you in Jesus’ name. He loves you, Dominika. He wants you to know Him so much. . . ” I trailed off as I knew that she, not understanding English at all, had heard me. Suddenly, for the first time, she was calm. We looked into each others’ eyes for a moment more, then she extricated herself and walked off to bed. The next day, unbeknownst to me, another male member of my team had a similar experience with her. On the last day, just before we left, out on the playground we’d built for them, she came to ride the teeter-totter. Krista had given her a bear, and she was elated, bringing it even to the playground. Her smile was calm; her face was happy. She is my favorite memory of what happens at the name of Jesus and a rush or two of His love.

Then, needing to practice for a show in a Polish coffee shop on Friday, I found a piano pretty-much-in-tune in the foyer. Music flowed through the halls like it probably never does, and I found myself praying subconsciously for walls to come down (what walls, I didn’t even know). Mark White, the mastermind behind the playground trips and the proud adoptive father of two children from this very children’s home in Poland, told me later (not knowing I’d been praying, of course), “Lori, amazing things were happening here as you played. It was like walls were falling down. . .” When I came home and led worship on Sunday in my home church, a dear friend came up and said, “Lori, I’ve only had a few times in my life when I’ve awoken from a dream and I knew it was from the Lord. I saw you singing to children in Poland, and I saw walls coming down, and I knew God was breaking hearts for the orphans. . . ” I started jumping up and down in my high heels, and told her what had happened, and I’m convinced after some questioning that with the time change, she was dreaming at the time I was singing. Wow! How cool!!!! The workers there noticed how the kids responded to the love we showed, and I wonder if it’s their hearts that got broken that day. Extended love. . . that’s our greatest hope.

More later. . . .