Papa's Treasure

"Who are you, Daughter? A woman who loves Me. At times you feel your giftings are few and your anointing small. But do you want to be loved for what you can do--what the Kingdom sees--or who you are?


"My treasure are My sons and daughters. Their devotion and love for Me. Their whole-hearted worship and surrender. Their listening ears and expectant hearts.


"Do you want a man to love you for external measures or for the quality of a pure and lovely heart? You choose. And when you choose, remember--My son wants the same thing."

~Papa God

My Protector

God is an awesome Protector! I’m so thankful He’s my Abba Daddy.

When I first became single again, a vast world of possibilities opened up to me or so I thought. I was free from negativity, criticism, and oppression, and I inhaled the fresh air of freedom with joy and gladness. Accompanying my joy, a deep longing to experience a kind, giving relationship bloomed inside me. I had a vault full of treasure to share and I longed to find a gentle, loving man to give it to.

My joy and motherly instincts attracted attention. A divorced man with two kids asked me to coffee. I suggested we meet at a park instead. He called me on the phone and my heart ached to mother his children and have my own home to care for again. Because I always seek to give grace, I brushed off the somewhat demeaning and arrogant way he talked to others. I told myself his jokes weren’t meant to be harsh. After each conversation, however, I felt a warning that his beliefs weren’t quite in line with Scripture. Attached to his kids, I kept downplaying the growing unease I felt. I offered to babysit his children, but God stepped in. He brought me into contact with people who told me a little more of this man’s background and his children’s strange behaviors. Torn between feeling judgmental and sick to my stomach when he talked about Sophia, a so-called Biblical member of the Trinity, I experienced a demonic attack. I knew exactly where the spirit had come from. A meeting with a new friend confirmed all the suspicions I had been trying to explain away. The man was into witchcraft and even boasted of being able to make his daughter fall asleep on command. I told the man I couldn’t hang out with him anymore because he did not have the same spirit as me. That week, he left the church.

God knows how difficult it’s been for me to learn to heed His still, quiet voice immediately. Attending college at the same time as me, an older man shared his story about a horrible war zone experience and his resulting PTSD and drug use. Clean and sober, he was determined to help others defeat addictions, for which I greatly admired him. I began praying for him and had received several visions of seeing him transformed by the love of Jesus. A year later, he and I ended up in the same class together. His eyes sparkled whenever he talked, his manner showed kindness, and he suggested getting together. I was excited to share the hope of Jesus, and overcame my usual reticence, giving him a music CD and my phone number. He said he’d call me, but as he shared a story about a former girlfriend, the Lord flashed the word “player” across my mind. I wanted to ignore it, but as he waved my number, I said, “I make friends with many kinds of people.” He didn’t call me. I started to feel really bad about the way I had phrased my boundary. I found his number in the phone book and called it, but the Lord already knew: the number was disconnected. As I threw away the paper I’d written it on, instantly it flashed into a condom. I prayed and prayed, listening to the man in class, watching his words and actions take on an aggressive manner around me. He was so strong on my heart, I pushed past his coldness and gave him a book on the Father’s heart. Daddy God wrapped my heart in His love, but the man’s warm, twinkling eyes were building a deeper attraction in me. I begged God for a clear answer, and God answered my prayer. I came to school at an unusual time and saw a woman with her hand on his thigh. She was enough of a friend and espousing Christian that later I asked her about his moral values. She laughed as she admitted he had slept with every willing girl on campus as well as her. Later they married, and I thanked God for forewarning and protecting me.

These incidents as well as others have solidified in me the necessity of heeding the gentle prompting of the Holy Spirit. God knows the spirit and nature of a person and reveals the truth when we ask.

Although I based on the title of my first book, Love that is Blind, on a 4Him song about the basics of life, I know now that Love is not blind. Our Father God sees clearly, forgives continually, and empowers us with the ability to change. That’s grace! He also puts up firm boundaries for our protection, warning us not to seek unity with someone who pursues worldly lusts.

Our Abba Daddy desires to protect us from toxicity, especially in romantic relationships. He desires marriage to be a fountain of blessing for a lifetime, but that can happen only when both partners live in surrender to Him.

Offerings

We all have something to offer.

I’m learning that offering what I have brings God glory regardless of how others look upon my offering or receive it. In God’s eyes, there is no offering too small, too scary, too transparent, too simple, or too extravagant to be viewed with disdain. People may look down upon the offering based on standards of this world, but heaven never will.

Think about what you have to offer then think about the little boy with the five loaves and two fishes. His lunch wasn’t enough to feed the 5000 or even a few. It was barely enough for just him. But it was more than enough for Jesus.

Our offering isn’t about the size or expense of it. When we give with all our heart, our Heavenly Father rejoices. Our offering may be intensely personal or a simple turn of phrase, but if we’re giving it as a blessing then it’s intensely beautiful.

A year ago, I offered my house as a place for a Bible study, and it hurt when other homes were accepted instead. I battled with pain. Was it because I’m divorced? A single mom whose kids are a bit rowdy? Living in a low-income neighborhood? Why wasn’t my home good enough? As I cried out to God, He healed my heart with His gentle love and showed me that as much as I wanted to host His Presence with other believers, it wasn’t the right timing. My trying to fit another activity and present a perfect home would have been overwhelming. The kids and I still needed time to be messy and focus on personal healing.

Now as I offer my second novel, His Cloak of Grace, to agents in the hope of gaining representation to Christian fiction publishers, I’m opening my heart for a series of rejections. But as I’ve learned more about God’s refining process and the worth of every offering, I’m finding that the moments of rejection are just moments on my journey—the journey God has for me. No one can ever take away the value of the message He gave me to share: He gave me the plot and characters to write and no one else has that story to share. His purpose for my writing will be accomplished as long as I’m willing to step out in faith and humbly accept the rejections that come as well as the timing of acceptance—even if that’s just one person at a time instead of thousands.

Think of an altar where offerings are often made. Some offerings are just like that…sacrifices. Sacrifices are the offerings that cost us to give. Maybe our time, our energy, our money. Or maybe like Jesus’ death on the cross, an offering may cost our reputation, our followers, our lives. Yet God says to give it—bring the offering and trust Him with both the cost and the result. After all, without death there is no resurrection power.

Offerings cost us when they’re rejected. They cost us our pride, our confidence, maybe our hope. That’s why Jesus allows the refining, so we learn to place our confidence, pride, and hope in Him. Maybe you’ve experienced rejection. Whether in large ways or small, rejection stings and presents us with a choice: to shut down, react in bitterness and anger, or forgive, let go of self-protection, and move on.

In my life, I’ve made offerings that I thought would be immediately accepted and approved only to feel stunned by rejection and quick dismissal. Does that make my offering of less worth or significance? No, nor does it yours.

The purifying process of God’s grace means sometimes our offerings have to go through fire so that our motives and character are refined. As we surrender to God’s timing and purposes for our lives, we discover a greater beauty in forgiveness, submission, and humility. As we gaze upon the face of Jesus, we see there the scars of a soul submitted to the will of Daddy God. “Not my will, but Yours be done.”

I’m still learning to trust God when an offering is rejected as much as when one is accepted. Both require the grace and strength of God in our lives to fulfill God’s plan and bring Him great glory. 

Sneak Peek into Love that is Blind

Prologue
       The shrill beeping of the fire alarm jerked fifteen-year-old Cora Abrams out of a deep sleep. Acrid smoke hit her nostrils.

       Fire! She coughed hard as she stumbled out of bed, the smoke activating her chest cold. She hurried to the door of her upstairs bedroom in central Los Angeles, then froze when a man shouted outside.

       “Burn the Jews’ homes!”
       She gasped in horror. Glass shattered downstairs, and trembling assaulted her. Oh, God, what am I supposed to do? Everyone else from the neighborhood had driven to the synagogue to celebrate Hanukkah.
       Staggering downstairs, she coughed harder from the thickening smoke. Then she entered the kitchen.

       Fire licked up the wall near the phone. A cold December wind blew in through the broken window, intensifying the flames.

       She swayed as dizziness swept over her, but she had to get to the phone. It was her only hope.

       Flames darted close.  She grabbed the receiver and frantically dialed 911.

       Someone shouted near the window. She clutched at the gold cross on her necklace. Dear Jesus! What if the men came inside? What if they found her?

       A calm, professional voice spoke over the line. “911. May I help you?”

       “My house is on fire, and a gang is vandalizing—“ The heavy curtain rod above her suddenly crashed down, striking the back of her head. She screamed as she plummeted into darkness.

***

        “Cops!” Rye Tyler grabbed the scrawny arm of his teenage cohort as sirens screamed close. “We gotta run!”
        “Yeah!” Dish threw his can of gasoline to the ground and tore across the residents’ lawns with the five other gang members.

        Rye raced after them, but whirled when a girl’s scream pierced the air. “What was that?”

        Dish swore, racing faster. “Forget her!”
        Rye stood, petrified. Flames billowed out the windows of the first house they had gassed. Dish had said all the Jews were gone. What if a girl burned to death because of what they had done? His mother had died in a fire, and her terrified screams still haunted him.
        Anguish ripped through him as he sprinted to the girl’s house. Locating a broken window, he shattered it with his elbow. Heat poured over him as he vaulted inside. Smoke stung his eyes, but he located the girl on the far side of the kitchen. She lay collapsed, fire licking at her nightgown.
        He ran across the room. Flames singed him as he scooped her up. He staggered toward the door, and the metal knob scalded his palm when he opened it. He plunged through the doorframe, but the top beam broke loose, knocking him to the ground.
        He fell on the girl, white-hot heat arcing into his chest from her cross necklace. Gasping, he stumbled to his feet, the unconscious girl flopping in his arms. His legs burned as he bolted away from the collapsing house.
        Flashing red-and-blue lights lit up the neighborhood, but escape didn’t matter anymore. He dropped to his knees on the dry lawn, cradling the girl against his chest.
        A cold voice said, “You’d better let me have her.”
        He looked up at the uniformed paramedic, who took the girl from him. Her arms dangled limply, and blood matted her long, dark hair. Had he been too late to save her?
        His self-control fragmented. Covering his shaved head with sooty hands, he broke down and wept.