Hunger Week, Day Four- Intercession

Two nights ago I had two dreams. One, an old friend of mine was dying and someone told me to shoot him so he can be put out of his misery. They planned it all out for me and I shot at a wall knowing that he was on the other side. After many shots, I knew he was dead. After it was all over, I realized that he was gone forever and there was no way to bring him back. Regret and sorrow filled my heart as I realized I never told him he needed Christ, I never stood in the gap and prayed for his salvation.

His blood was on my hands.

The next dream I had was that my dad died. It was so real and so vivid. Real memories flooded my mind. I remember doing the dishes and him walking behind me and I got angry and disgusted at his alcohol use and pride. Another memory was when I was 7 or 8, him and I were fishing together on a quiet, secluded part of the lake and I just sat and watched him. I liked being with him more than I liked the fishing. I sat back and watched him cast his pole in the water all focused and determined.. and I realized that my dad would die someday. At that moment I knew that I wanted my dad to always know that I love him so much and I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. In the dream, I cried like how I would imagine I would if he really did die.. the thing that I was weeping the most about was that I had the ability to communicate with heaven on his behalf, but I didn’t cry out enough. 

I awoke from my sleep to the sound of my own wailing and weeping. 

I sat up knowing that it is our duty and our vocation to intercede, intervene and stand in the gap for people we know, people we don’t know... things of this nation, of this city and of this world. 

Bill Johnson, a pastor from Bethel Church in Redding, California said in one of his sermons, “History is shaped by those who pray, or shaped in the absence of those who could have prayed” 

He also said, “God in his sovereignty, chose us to be stewards of a planet, and in doing so we have the responsibility to interact with heaven and that is done through prayer.” 

1 Timothy 2:1 says, “I urge, then, first of all, that requests, prayer, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone- for kings and all those in authority, (meaning our president and the decisions he plans on making) 

that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants all men to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth. (Meaning, God WANTS ALL men to be saved!) 

For there is one God and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, "

Prayer positions us to affect the outcome of things beyond imagination. During this time tonight, set aside any hinderances and let us weep for those who weep and mourn for those who mourn. 

James 5:16 says, “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. (We’ve done that the past couple of days so that’s good..) The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.”

Ask the Holy Spirit to reveal specific things to pray for while you pray. I’m not saying that praying for the obvious is bad, but go deeper. Shooting arrows in all directions towards your enemy isn’t bad, but you’ll have a better outcome if you seek out the exact targets to hit. 

Ask the Lord to burden your heart, have him reveal the unseen. 

Are You My Daddy?

Boyfriend, are you my daddy?

At first, my heart was overjoyed and overflowing with warm feelings, rosy cheeks and silly giggles. You made me feel worth something in the beginning. But then, you took my virginity away. You started mocking me in front of your friends... You started calling me unspeakable names that tore me down and broke my heart. You lied to me. You cheated on me...

You... are not my daddy. 


Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Sailor Jerry, are you my daddy? 

At first you all were really nice to me. At night, when I would sit on my apartment floor all alone, you would comfort me. Your warmth took my tears away. But you tricked me. You stole my money, you lead me to places I shouldn’t have been, you blocked out my memory and lead me to people who hurt me. You mocked and made a fool out of me. You turned me into a drunken liar and tricked me into situations that lead to verbal, emotional, physical abuse and even date rape. 

You... are not my daddy.


Dad, are you my daddy?

Growing up, the idea of you was almost magical. I always wanted you to take me with you everywhere, even if it was boring. I wanted to go fishing with you and for you to teach me everything you knew. When I would hear your work truck coming down the road, my heart would beat so fast out of excitement at your arrival. But then you started hanging out with guys like Jim Beam, Jack Daniels and Sailor Jerry, and they tricked you too. They had you kick me out of the house and not remember the reason. I'm all grown up now and live in a different state... it's too late to go back.

I love you... but you’re not my daddy. 



Maybe I don’t need a daddy at all. Maybe I can do things on my own... 


But when I go without a daddy, my heart grows cold and hard. Without a daddy, there’s no one to protect me, no one to tell me that they have loved me since before I was born. Without a daddy, who will love me no matter how many mistakes I have made or will make? Without the love of a daddy... I am alone and incomplete... I don't know who I am...

There has to be a daddy for me. 

Lord, God ... are You my Daddy? 

You must be Him... you must be mine and I must be yours. It is you who I desire isn’t it? It was you who I wanted even as a lonely child... it was your time I wanted, it was you who I wanted to listen to me.. It was your, “I love you” I longed to hear. You are the one who completes me, aren’t you... Thank you for never turning your back on me when I tried to find love in all of those other men. 
You will never lie to me, or break my heart. You will never call me a disappointment. You think I am beautiful, don’t you... You waited for me even when I ignored you. I thank you that you have promised to keep me, thank you for wanting me. Thank you for having plans to prosper me and not to hurt me, plans to give me hope and a future. (Jer.29:11-13) I know you will never leave me. 

Please, always be my daddy. Please let me always be your little peanut. How can you want to be with me when you are so perfect? How is it that you are willing to hold my hand everywhere we go? How is it that you will love me no matter what? 

Father, even when I am old, please let me be your little girl. As long you are my father, my daddy, I am forever your crazy haired, little peanut. 

Words

Just in the past few days, a major root has been exposed in my life. This particular root has been choking my growth in many areas. It has effected relationships, my art work, my seriousness, my ability to be vulnerable in front of others, the ability to be myself no matter who I am around. I realized that I put up a wall of humor which gives me the upper hand in most situations with other people which keeps them from going to any depths of me. I don't even know what those depths look like... I'm hoping bright colors and swirls, but hey, we can't always win.  I found out why I carried so much fear, the wounds of being mocked throughout my life have not been healed. The hurt of trusting someone with my heart, and then having them ridicule me while everyone laughs, was fresh within me.

 Imagine in fast speed a child is born, picture it... so fresh, new, perfect and beautiful. It's getting older, figuring things out, still cute. It gets older, other kids think it's weird or different, and here comes the negative, "you're stupid!" "You're not funny, get away from me!" They continue to get older, their growth has been hindered. The insults start to get more detailed and intense. They start teasing it about the family in which it came from, which causes a whole bunch of insecurity issues in itself... By the time they're considered full grown, they have been stunted, scarred and belittled. How can all of the damage be undone?

  Our words have the power to either build up or tear down. A lot of them do worse things then tear down, they cripple, they torment and stunt growth.  I would encourage whoever is reading this, to look up words and water, just google "words and water" and you'll find that words actually impact the molecular structure of water..... remember how our bodies are 70% water? And the earth is 70% water... 

  I'm convinced that the little jingle, "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me" came straight from the mouth of satan. I just googled that saying and it is encouraging to see that others are realizing that it is bull crap. However, I have not read a blog or article that has a solution. The solution is Jesus Christ and the cross. Who else can erase the damages and labels that others have slapped on us?

  For my entire childhood all the way up until a month ago, I was convinced that I was not pretty unless I was a certain size or unless my arms didn't have little bumps. I was told throughout my life that I was chunky, one of my earliest nicknames was "thunder thighs" by my uncle, thinking it was cute. He had no idea that for 21 years, I would struggle day in and day out with the way I looked and who I was. It was incredibly exhausting to never be satisfied with how I was, or to believe that I was never good enough until something changed, until I was perfect. It wasn't until Jesus looked me in the face and said, "Alyssa, I love you yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever no matter what you do. You are mine and I want to keep you." It had nothing to do with my looks, but the fact that Jesus wants to keep me, and His love knows no boundaries or limits, changed everything I thought about myself. I am worth being loved, even if I screw up. I don't have to get perfect first in order to be loved. It's been a process to learn who I am in Christ. I know this, I am who He says I am. Says. 

No one should ever be told they're stupid. Who are we to deem such a thing? How prideful to label someone else as stupid? 

Where has encouragement gone? Why don't we encourage one another? Is it because we're all so bitter about the fact that no one ever says anything nice to us? Because we're swimming in our own pool of lies that have spoken over us? It's time for freedom, it's time for love, encouragement, it is time for us to walk in the way the Lord has created us to walk. Recovering alcoholics, stop labeling yourself as "an alcoholic". That is not who you are and you were never created to be that way. Maybe you've struggled with alcohol (I have), but it's over. Stop giving it glory by talking about it and allowing that label to be stuck to you.

We need to clean our filthy mouths. With the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks. Whatever is in our heart is going to come out of our mouths, what does your heart look like? Bitter? Angry? Jealous? Prideful? Point your worship to the Lord, get your eyes in the word, hiding what you're reading in your heart, then, truth will be the overflow.

Plane Loads of Fun

        Today was one of those amazing trips to the airport where everything was against me. I’m not kidding. My mom drove as slow as possible on the way there which left me with 50 minutes until my plane was to take off; not board, take off. When I got there I went to NorthWest because that’s what I flew on the way to Minnesota. I swiped my check card, it read, “no reservation”. I swiped my drivers license, “no reservation”. The lady behind the desk checked my information, “no reservation”. “What the heck”, I thought. “Oh my gosh... fricken Continental!” I forgot that I had bought a one way to Minnesota and then after that a round-trip to phoenix and back. Luckily, unlike the other time I went to the wrong airlines, Continental was just down a ways. 

I ran to Continental, got everything going, got in line for security and got through ok. I was looking at my ticket to see which gate and I saw, 15 D, so I proceeded to gate “D”. I got all the way there and first of all, there was no 15 D, second, it was NorthWest not Continental. I checked my ticket, “oh awesome, that’s my seat number.” (of course I went all the way down to the end of the “D” gates) I walked very fast (because I hate running, especially in public, with bags and no sports bra) out of gate “D” and back to the main area. I continued through to gate “E” which was where I was supposed to go. On my way I thought to myself, “of course, on a trip like this I wouldn’t get a gate like, E2 or E7 even... why do I have to get the ones tucked away in janitor closets way far away?”

I walk passed all the gates as quickly as possible to get to E15. I made it! I looked around and didn’t see Continental. I walked up to the lady behind the desk of E15 and asked if they had boarded for Phoenix connecting in Houston, “Oh that’s down that way, that’s Continental”. What!? What the heck Alyssa!? I looked again, E3! Fricken 15 is my SEAT NUMBER for the second time... wow. So, I ran again. All the way down. To gate E3. Three. Not fifteen. I was the last person to board. 

The good news is I made it. Yep, I’m sitting here in seat 15D at a cozy 56 degrees. I’m seriously freezing. There’s a flight attendant guy who just did a crotch jostle. Sick. 

The other flight attendant, Michell Flanigan (not kidding) asked me what I would like to drink, “Coffee, please” I said. “Coffee!?” her eyes widened with a matching smile, “I get so surprised when the young ones order coffee...” she said looking at the old man next to me, “How would you like that, cream? Sugar?” she continued with her head tilted as if she was talking to a puppy. “Black.” I said, plainly. “Ohh!! Black!? Wow! Even more surprising!” Then I told her with a strange facial expression which I think was new to me (believe it or not), “I’m not that young.” “Oh? How old are you?” she asked, talking to me as if I was eight. “Twenty one.” I said trying to smile. “Oh wow! You don’t look that old!” She ended up telling me that it was a good thing and then touched my shoulder. I don’t care that she thought I was young, in fact, great. However, she was like really weird about it. I guess it just feels weird when someone talks to you like that when no one’s done it in like, ten years.  

I’m glad that events like that only make me laugh and end up as fun writing material

(Later on my next flight from Houston to Phoenix)

Oh fricken hilarious. The flight crew from Minneapolis to Houston happens to be my flight crew to Phoenix. Great, I’m so glad to see the crotch jostler and Michell Flanigan again.

Wake Up, Oh Sleepers

This is an outpour of my heart from a few weeks ago after a former co-worker ended his life. 

In the beginning I saw the hurt in Clint and I never forgot it, however I became too preoccupied with my flesh to listen to the Lord and pray for him. I was too busy basking in my lust and the attention I got from all the men surrounding me. I remember a distinct moment, where I started wearing clothes that weren't revealing but I knew made me very attractive, dressing like that put a limit on where conversations could go. My clothing set each encounter I had with every male. I remember getting a check in my spirit that Clint was thinking I was attractive and I could see in him sexual sin. After seeing it, I minimized our conversations and any other interactions between us. It wasn't Clint's fault. The clothes I wore and the way I carried myself didn't allow the Lord to work through me. It was me who was gross.

     There is no time for selfishness. The Lord has said that He is everything we need, He will sustain us, He will provide for us... He is it. I believe now the reason why He is offering to sustain us is so that we can love others, to share Christ with them. If we are all about Christ, we are all about His people. If we are wrapped up in our own selfish pride, we ignore other peoples cries, aches and emptiness. There is work to be done. I could have been a light in that place. I could have brought purity. I could have poured out Christ's love. But instead, each morning I focused on how good I could make myself look that day. And when I looked good, I scowled and closed off relationships with males if I could tell they were looking at me too long. How can I deliver Christ to people if I make it impossible for them to not stare at my boobs? And how twisted is it that I thought just because my boob crack wasn't showing that I was dressing modestly? If I would have instead, walked in humility and with Christ, He could have really used me to loosen up hardened hearts. 

     Instead of awakening their spirits, I awakened sexual sin and lust, all because  "I didn't know my worth in Christ". While I was not knowing my worth in Christ, I was fulfilling that gap with male attention. How selfish and prideful I am. I couldn't share the love of Christ because I was too busy being selfish. I couldn't hear if the Lord wanted me to pray for Clint because the only thing I wanted to hear was that I was wonderful. I distanced myself from men because I didn't want to look at me with lust, yet I wanted them to say things like, "Why aren't there more girls like you?" If I would have dressed and carried myself in a pure manor, I wouldn't have had to distance myself. If I would have been aligned with Jesus I could have talked with Clint more, I could have heard of his struggles, prayed for the spiritual battle he was going through...

     But I didn't. I wasted five months on myself. On pride. On Alyssa. God told us that He is our provider and sustainer. He loves even the smallest sparrow, so much more is His love for us. I know why He provides; so we can give to others, not so we have freedom to be cozy in our flesh. We are not to be lord over our own lives, but submitted under Jesus, Lord of lords. Our lives are fragile and we are not promised tomorrow. Our lives are but a vapor.

     Clint is gone. He is not coming back. I wish I could have told him:

Clint, I know sadness, I know darkness and despair. I may not have  been in the same situation as whatever you are going through, but I also know redemption, restoration and salvation. I know love, a love that is unconditional. A love that is non-contractual. A love that knows no limits. I know a God who's power is endless, who's grace continues to blow me away. I know that my God wants to wrap you in his arms no matter how old or how big you are. I know that He knows exactly how to love you because He created you. I know that He is waiting for you to call out to Him. Clint, I love you because I know the love of my Father. You are worth so much. You were fearfully and wonderfully made. You are amazing. 

I Don't Get It

I haven't yet experienced this in Minnesota (where I'm from) but in Arizona (where I live) people absolutely love to stand as close to you as possible when in line. I'm sorry, but if I can feel your fricken nasty breath on my neck, you're too close! Do you really think the line is going to move faster if you *hump my leg? I'm going to guess that it won't... but that's just me... I could be wrong. Sometimes I want to turn around and say something like, "You're breath smells like green olives, yogurt and a pee diaper. I'm not mad at you, but if you could stand a little farther back that would be fantastic".
One time at the Minneapolis airport, I was in line going through security and there was seriously the most bizzare woman behind me. She was mumbling to herself and constantly looking all over the place like a nervous Chihuahua. I could feel her hot breath on the back of my head and she reaked of Vanilla Musk. I tried moving away from her (not solely on the things I listed above, but I just don't like people standing so stinkin' close to me), but she would follow. It reminds me of water droplets how they magnetise together... Anywhere I moved, she would move, even if I leaned she would lean the same direction. The line moved a decent amount and her excitement caused her little plastic baggies to drop out of her purse onto the floor. Out came her bottle of Vanilla Musk, spraying eighteen times on the way down, six different prescription bottles, lipstick and some other odd items. "Oh shoot. Oooohhhh shoot. No, no, no, no, no.... " she said shaking. She frantically bent down to gather her belongings as if someone were running to steal them. Hey, you never know, six prescription bottles could be a dream come true to a crazy pill-popper. Since her and I spent so much intimate time together in line, I felt it was my job as a friend to descend into the musky vanilla air to help her. We were basically best friends after that, we almost held hands.
Maybe I should just try to hold the person's hand the next time someone breathes down my neck...

*a mound over which railroad vehicles are pushed so as to run by gravity to the required place in a switchyard.

Wait... One More

I was going to be done for tonight, but I find night time to be my prime time for thinking, creativity and productivity. Maybe you're thinking, "Life should be lived during the day, Alyssa..." Yeah I agree, and I do live during the day but I've been a night owl my entire life. (Side note/story) When I was still in the crib, my mom woke up around midnight from a strange sound. She went into my room to find that I had somehow climbed out of my crib and was instead, underneath it. She leaned down and saw me trying to blow up a balloon, "Ppfffff". I saw her and said, "Booon." That was my way of saying, "balloon". 

Anywho, yeah I've always been awake at night. It's calm and quiet.
Ok, for real this time, the real things I wanted to say:

Shoot... What was I going to say... 

Hmmm... Guess I'll get back to you on that one...