The plight of two women is what haunts me. Two women whose faces I have never seen and who I cannot describe even one feature.  If I were to see them face to face I would not recognize them, and yet they haunt me.

 They are women trapped in a goldfish bowl, they scream, they cry out but the world outside the bowl in which they reside moves on, oblivious to their plight, their screams go unheard.

 It brings back memories of another woman long ago, who felt as if she were trapped in a goldfish bowl of violence. She was alone in her fear and in her pain. She used to sit at the window of her home on a beautiful sunny day and look out, and watch the people going about their lives oblivious to her plight.

 As she was face down on the floor and the punches and kicks were falling upon her, she would find herself thinking about how that old couple next door are probably sitting down to dinner, a very pleasant dinner where she asks how his day was and he regels her with stories and she laughs and laughs…..and they both are oblivious to the cries from the fish bowl.

  She sits in the corner of the room as he holds the shotgun to her face; she’s long past fear now, just resigned to the facts. As he raves and shouts and threatens, she sees the lights of the cars going past and thinks of the people going to and fro. Some are going out to eat, some are on their way home, their radios are on, and they are bopping in time to the music, oblivious to the scene going on inside the fishbowl.

 She was set free one day, by someone who loved her, someone who finally managed to see through the thick glass of the fishbowl she lived in. But who will set these two women free?

 Perhaps they are free already, perhaps they have paid for their crimes with their lives, perhaps for them the nightmare has ended and the goldfish bowl that trapped them lies shattered in a pool of their blood. The thing that haunts me most is that I will never know.

 You see, these two women, these brave two women reside in Al-Raqqu, Syria under the leadership and oppression of DAESH (also known as ISIS). They risked their lives to show the world what life inside the goldfish bowl of Sharia law under DAESH is like. They carried hidden cameras under their black tents; they did so in spite of the fact that had DAESH noticed this, had they been caught, they would have been subjected to a most terrible death.

   As you watch their video you notice that you cannot see even the slightest bit of skin on any of the women. They are covered head to toe in black, like some great tent that enfolds about them and they look sort of like those PACMAN ghosts in the old video game, a blob with eyes peeking out.

 Their video shows them moving about the city, dressed in their tents. They speak of terrible things, of killings and beatings and of fear and oppression. Amongst all that it seems rather strange to me that one of the most powerful parts of the video is nothing more than a beauty supply rack containing hair dye. A harmless enough item, used by women all over the world, and yet in this video it too represents the oppression they live under. Depicted is a rack of hair dye filled with a variety of colors and each and every box has the woman’s image blacked out. A rack of multi colored hair dyes and they all look identical. A box with a black shape that did represent a woman displaying the color hair of the dye but is now just a black blob.

 What kind of man is threatened by an image of a woman on a hair dye box?

  In the world in which these two women reside death is a constant companion. Executions are the norm. Heads displayed on the spikes of the fence that circle the roundabout are common. Nothing to see here folks….just heads on a spike….move along......don’t forget to stop and buy your hair dye.

 Here women oppress woman, with gangs of DAESH women going about the city enforcing Sharia and checking on their sisters to make certain they are in compliance. To be found out of compliance can be a very costly mistake.

 Here persons who are gay are thrown head first off the tops of high buildings. To be honest they are perhaps the lucky ones as some of the executions performed in this place are brutal, terribly brutal and to be launched from a tall building head first is perhaps a mercy.

 Here in this place where these two women reside, there are slave markets. Men go there to purchase women and little girls. Women and little girls who have been ripped from their families, many watched their families brutally murdered, are sold to the highest bidder.

  I think of these women often. I wonder if they are still alive. Do they hold onto hope or is all hope long since been lost?

  At the end of the video one of them says “I long to take off the niqab and the darkness that cloaks us for good.”…………..”to be able to go out in the street without being scared.”……………..”nothing matters more than freedom.”

  Oh my sisters, I see you in the fish bowl, and yet I am helpless to do anything. I have no power, no money, no means to free you! Rest assured my sisters, what I can do I have done. I have cried out again and again to my elected officials and I have prayed, I do pray, I will pray!

  Oh Lord of mercy, Lord who heard the blood of Abel crying out to You from the ground, see Your daughters caught in slavery, in oppression, who live their lives in fear trapped under black tents, trapped in a place that should not even exist upon this world. Oh Lord see them! Deliver them! Come to them in their dreams with words of hope and life!

 Oh Lord how the blood of this place much cry out, if Abel’s blood cried out then the cries rising up to You from this one town in Syria much be thundering, ear-piercing, tumultuous and loud enough to wake the dead. Oh Lord hear them, hear the cries of the blood that screams from Raqqa and hear the cries of these women enslaved in this horrible system of oppression and fear.

 And Lord, if it is possible, let the world hear the cries of the blood, let the world hear the piercing cries of the blood of slaughtered innocents rising up to You.

 Oh Lord have mercy upon these two brave women, and upon all the oppressed living in that terrible place. And not just that place Oh Lord, but to each and every soul who feels unseen, who lives under the threat of violence and death, who knows hopelessness…Oh Lord save. As You once saved me Oh Lord…….save them.

 

"We want the world to know," they say.

 

Read their story

http://www.expressen.se/nyheter/womens-secret-films-from-within-closed-city-of-islamic-state/?cmpid=youtube

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The old saying "beware the Ides of March" is from the story of Julius Caesar. A seer had warned him that he would come to harm before the ides of March and on that very day as he walked to the theater he passed the seer and mocked him,  saying "the ides of March have come" , and the seer responded "Aye, Caesar; but not gone" and later that same day at the Theater of Pompey, Julius Caesar was assassinated. His assassination was a turning point for Rome leading to civil war and was the beginning of the change from Roman Republic to Roman Empire.  

  March signifies a turning point in our calendar of seasons, from winter to spring, typically taunting us with beautiful warm days, the budding of trees, the bursting forth of bulbs from the ground and all their promise of flowers and yet in betwixt the warmness and promise of new life come the buffeting winds of March, said to come in like a lion and to go out as a lamb. Yet often, here in New Mexico they come in as a lamb and go out as a lion. Today promises to be such a day, with winds of up to 50 mph and clouds of dust, dust that hovers over the city of Albuquerque and over the Sandia Mountains creating a dingy yellow veil that dims the view and hides the beauty.

   Sometimes turning points are heralded by loss, be it the assassination of a leader as it was with the nation of Rome, or the howling winds that signifies winter's anger at being driven back into the shadows by spring. or the times of loss, death, pain and suffering within our own lives that so often leave us stripped naked and broken crying out for a rain of grace from God.

  Sometimes they are heralded by moments of great joy, and gifts, the blessing of marriage, or the birth of a child, a new job, a new friendship, a new road to walk down and the hope of new life found in Christ, Times that leave us in awe of the beauty and wonder of life and how very precious it is.

  In both can come a rain of grace, and a turning point, the moment when you realize how small you are, how helpless and broken and powerless you are. The moment when you realize that you are not in control of anything at all.......and that moment when you realize the it is God and God alone who changes things and Him and Him alone who controls. That moment when you realize that all that is good comes from God, and that He holds in His hand all that you hold dear. And that moment when you realize that He is trustworthy, and that He loves you, and that You can rest easily in that knowledge, no matter what is happening, no matter if you are in the midst of harsh winds of sorrow and loss or basking in the sunlight of good gifts and great blessings.

  I ponder these things as  I look out this morning through my patio window and watch the big metal whirly gig turning in the light breeze, it marks the grave of the big white dog, the one who taught me so much about God and about life and about worship and hope. The one who taught me how to live in the moment and dance with joy. I miss her.

  March is an anniversary month for us, anniversaries of celebration and of remembrance. On the 6th of March we married, my love and I and this year was our 31st. And on the 12th of March our daughter in law left us, jumped straight into the arms of Jesus 3 years ago. Anniversaries of joy and of sorrow. Both were turning points.

 Marriage was one of the biggest turning points in my life apart from Christ and it stands right next to the birth of my children as a major point of change. It was change for the better, and it is where I first began to learn the art of putting others before my self. It hasn't been an easy lesson to learn and it is one I still forget from time to time.

 Mel's death was also a turning point, a time of great sorrow and loss, of guilt and regret, of helplessness and a pain so deep I felt near cut in two. From the ashes of that came the time of searching, seeking, and trying to find beauty in the everyday, beauty in the midst of sorrow. Slowly I learned how to practice gratitude, how to find something for which to be thankful each and every day, sometimes moment by moment. Sometimes it was just a flower, or the antics of a dog, or the sun rising over the mountains, and sometimes it was the bigger things like family and friends and new life found.

  Although turning points in life are scary, in Christ they can and do lead to growth. The most significant turning point that any soul can reach is that one where you see Christ for who He is and bow the knee and call Him King. For He is our Hiding Place when the hard winds of life come, when the winds buffet so very hard that you can only huddle in a heap as they strip you bare and leave you bereft, for without Him they will leave you bereft.....but in Him, in Him, you will never be stripped of hope and He will never leave you. He is a Wall that blocks the winds, and prevents the strong grit and sand from stripping you of life.

 He is; "a shelter from the storm” (Isaiah 32:2). “In the cover of your presence you hide them from the plots of men; you store them in your shelter from the strife of tongues” (Psalm 31:20).

“For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock” (Psalm 27:5).

“You are a hiding place for me; you preserve me from trouble” (Psalm 32:7).

And He says to you, “O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the crannies of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely” (Song of Songs 2:14).

  So on this Ides of March, I give thanks to the One who has preserved me through it all, and who daily renews my soul with hope for tomorrow and who showers me in His marvelous grace and who provides for me and shelters me from the harsh winds of life. In Him I need not worry about that ancient saying "beware the ides of March" for He holds me in His hand and nothing can befall me without His approval and if He approves He will see me through it and He will bring about my good and His glory in it.

   As I write these words the birds are singing in the trees, the peach tree blooms are vivid pink, the crab apple tree is blooming and the daffodil and tulips are rising from their dark graves with the promise of color and life to come. The old white dog lays in the morning rays, belly up to the sun, basking in the warmth. The little black and white dog takes a rare moment of rest and sleeps on the patio just outside my writing table. The whirly gig over the big white dog's grave turns slowly in the breeze, and for now the bells are silent, the wind mobiles stirring only slightly. Soon the hard winds will come.

 But I am content. I am in that place called Enough. Let the winds come..........He is with me.......and He is enough.

http://www.crystalinks.com/IdesofMarch.html

 

Write a tribute to a fallen soldier,

A simple task it might seem,

For I did not know him,

He was not my soldier.

And in the writing of it

I came to know him,

I saw my soldier in him,

He was an Infantryman.

Young and bold and brash,

With a smile that lit up the room,

Even though it was just a photograph

Wow it must have been something to see

that smile up close in person.

He had a young lady who loved him,

And a little baby boy that made him smile so big

I saw that smile in all the photographs I found

While researching who he was.

While attempting to know him

That I might tell others who he was

And how he died in our service.

That little boy of his is growing up fast

I have never met him in person

But I see him often in the photos his mom posts

The first time I saw him he was in his father’s arms,

Such a big smile on his dad’s face,

You could see the love and pride written there.

The next photo was of the little boy,

All alone on the beach,

Sitting in the surf, playing,

As a heart shaped wave encompassed him,

Gently it wrapped around the child

Playing in the surf.

There have been many others

The boy laughing, playing, smiling

The boy with the lizard

The boy with his mom.

And then today there was a new one.

The boy kneeling before a tombstone

His head is bowed

Perhaps he weeps

Or perhaps he prays

Or perhaps he is simply reflecting

All I see is his back and his bowed head

And the tombstone of his young father

Who had such a beautiful smile

Who was an Infantryman

And my hearts breaks

For the boy,

For his father

For the loss

And the pain

For the war

That keeps on taking

And taking

And taking

It seems the full price is never paid.

Bless the boy Lord,

Bless him all his days.

    

   I was once called to write a tribute for a young infantryman named Kalin Johnson who died on March the 8th, 2011.Writing tributes requires research, and in that research you often find photos and stories from the families that will really break your heart. The fallen warrior becomes more than a name, and you begin to see their life, their loves, their hopes and dreams, and you see up close and personal the sorrow they have left behind.

Sometime after writing Kalin's tribute  I was blessed to come to know his young lady and to watch via social media the growth of their young son. I wrote a lot of tributes for the fallen, and so many of them are forever engraved upon my memory, but there is something special about Kalin Johnson. I wrote this poem for Kalin and for Logan. It was inspired by a photograph of Logan in front of his father's tombstone.

Rest in peace Kalin Johnson. Although I never knew you in person, I shall never forget you.

The original tribute:

https://www.facebook.com/notes/military-wall-of-honor/united-states-army-private-first-class-kalin-christopher-lee-johnson/10150424058715244?hc_location=ufi

A memorial page in his honor:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/In-Memory-of-Kalin-Christopher-Lee-Johnson/132397586833189?sk=wall

   Today I read the story of the woman with the issue of blood. A story so very rich in meaning and in grace and a story requiring some knowledge of the laws of that time, and what this condition would have meant for this women who had suffered for twelve long years with this issue of blood.

 The story: Luke 8:43-48 English Standard Version (ESV)  And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, and though she had spent all her living on physicians, she could not be healed by anyone. She came up behind him and touched the fringe of his garment, and immediately her discharge of blood ceased.  And Jesus said, “Who was it that touched me?” When all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the crowds surround you and are pressing in on you!” But Jesus said, “Someone touched me, for I perceive that power has gone out from me.” And when the woman saw that she was not hidden, she came trembling, and falling down before him declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched him, and how she had been immediately healed. And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.”

 First we need to consider what this condition would have meant to this woman and how it would have impacted her daily life.

Leviticus 15:19-22 states:

• And if a woman have an issue, and her issue in her flesh be blood, she shall be put apart seven days: and whosoever toucheth her shall be unclean until the even.
• And every thing that she lieth upon in her separation shall be unclean: every thing also that she sitteth upon shall be unclean.
• And whosoever toucheth her bed shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.
• And whosoever toucheth any thing that she sat upon shall wash his clothes, and bathe himself in water, and be unclean until the even.

  So consider the above, consider the society that she lived in, and consider that she had suffered this condition for 12 long years. Every person she touched would have been unclean, everything she touched would have been unclean. In the society that she dwelt in her condition would have caused her to be treated very similar to a leper. As she works her way through this great crowd of people every person she bumped into, everything she bumped into, would be deemed unclean. She touched the tassels of the robe that the Lord Jesus was wearing, making it unclean.

 She works her way carefully through the huge crowd, her heart pounding wildly within her chest. She is taking a great risk today, but she is certain, she is hopeful, she is desperate. Twelve long years of torture, to live amongst a people and yet always be apart from them, to be in plain sight but not seen, to have people that she had known all her life avoid her, avoid all contact with her. Yet she has heard of this new teacher, heard the stories of how he touched lepers and cleansed them, how he brought sight to blind eyes, even how he had raised a dead child to life! This must be the One for which they have been waiting! It must be! And he is compassionate, he is different, for what Rabbi would ever touch a leper?

 She weaves through the crowds heedless to the mutterings and cries of outrage as she bumps into people. She falls to the dusty ground and crawls through the legs of the masses, reaching out through them to barely grasp the fringe of his garment. Immediately she feels a rush through her body and she sits back on her heels as the crowds carry Jesus away. She stands to follow at a distance. He stops and turns and looks through the crowds shouting out "who touched me?" Her heart pounds within her chest, she has dared touch a holy rabbi's garment, she has made it unclean! What will he do to her for this terrible affront? But then she sees something in his eyes, and she has felt her body cleansed and healed so she timidly steps forward and falls at his feet.

 "Master, I have heard the stories, of how you have stooped to touch lepers, how you made them clean, how you brought sight to the blind and I have been unclean with a blood issue for twelve long years, I have yearned to be part of my family again, to feel the touch of human hands, to be clean......so I knew if I could only touch the hem of your garment I would be free." She trembles, it is possible that he will chastise her, that her uncleanness is too much, that she has caused great offense....but then he smiles and says "daughter, your faith has made you well, go in peace."....Daughter! He called her daughter!

  Perhaps it did not take place exactly as I described it, but I wonder oh friends do you see the wonder of this story? Do you see His great compassion for the outcast? Can you feel the desperation of this woman? Can you see how sad and heartrending her condition was to her? Can you imagine being in the midst of society but being outcast? Being deemed unclean? Unable to attend worship, unable to touch the ones you love nor feel their touch upon you? To spend all that you have to seek healing and all for nothing?

  And I wonder if you can see this Jesus, the One who sees us, He sees us in our brokenness, He sees us in our uncleanliness, in our desperation, in our broken and frantic attempts to heal ourselves......He sees us and He is willing, He is willing for us to reach out and touch the hem of His garment and be whole.

 A desperate woman, who has spent all she has trying to buy hope, and purchase healing, all for naught, crawls out in faith and touches the hem of the Master's garment........and finds healing, hope, and peace. She comes unclean, and outcast, she walks away a daughter of the King.

 

  

These dark nights,

These dismal days,

When I cannot sense Your presence

I know You are with me,

But I cannot feel it

I seek You but You do not respond

I cry out but You do not speak

And then it becomes so difficult

To even cry out

Difficult to seek

Prayer is a labor

And apathy seeps in

Lord you know how I hate apathy

And yet here it is

Right there in my soul

Help me to remember

All the times past

When I felt so alone

Yet You were there

I just could not see

Nor feel

But I believed

Faith is the substance

Of things hoped for

The evidence of

Things not seen

I know this truth

Yet to feel You

Makes me so alive

And to not feel You

So dead

Lord reach down

And touch my soul

That I might feel

Your presence.

Break my heart

With the things that break Yours

Crush the apathy

For it is better to be pushed down

By the sorrows of others

Than to feel nothing

Such a divided soul I am

Crying out that the burden is too great

The suffering too much

Oh to not feel for the sufferings of others!

And yet when it leaves me

I am lost without it.

Oh Lord return to me

Rip out this human heart

And restore to me Yours.

And then come along side

And bear the yoke with me

One more hill

As my son would say.

       I have found the Christian life to be one of valleys  and hills and high mountain tops. On the hills He is a constant presence, as if He were walking right there with you as a friend, on the mountain tops His presence so strong and holy that you cannot even stand before it but must fall on your face and tremble at His power and majesty, but then there are the valleys where you find yourself walking, seemingly alone, crying out to Him, Lord where are You? I have walked many hills, stood upon many mountain tops and trudged through many valleys. He never leaves you. Even in the valley, even in the silence He is there. Trust Him.

 Many wrongly assume that His absence is because something has gone wrong, this is not the case. In truth He is not absent at all, He is merely silent. Think of Joseph, sold into slavery, wrongly accused, imprisoned......I imagine he walked through some very deep valleys. Yet all the while God was working, moving, building and bringing about a great work.

   I feel the valley today, it's not a deep one, but it is there. Prayer comes hard right now, everything is a struggle, for some time now I have felt His presence so strong, so sure, so certain, and today scares me a bit. How long Lord? How deep this valley? I pray it is but a short one, perhaps a day or two. None the less, enough has passed that I know my Redeemer. He has not left, He has not stepped out, He is but silent for a time.

http://www.faithgateway.com/when-you-cant-feel-god/#.VsyYH-TSnIU