Category: The Holy Land

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A PIT AND A GRAVE

Leaving the center of the city, we made our way to the home of Caiaphas, the High Priest who condemned Jesus to death that twilight before His crucifixion. On that fateful eve, Jesus took to prayer in that Garden across the valley, pressed and poured out in surrender to the will of His Father. Like thieves in the night, men loyal to the Pharisees, tipped off by the betrayal of a kiss, grabbed Him by the arms and dragged Him to be placed on trial. Lugged up these steps, Jesus came face to face with His persecutors, who had plotted a way to end Him under the persuasion of that devil, the one who could not let the Lord of Creation see His plan through. Or so he thought.

Not a word escaped His lips as He was made a spectacle with every word coming out of the mouths of his accusers. He simply let it happen. As the night drug on, even his closest friends had abandoned him, lost in the confusion of the matter. “Wasn’t He supposed to be the Messiah? Shouldn’t we be doing something? Why isn’t He defending Himself? Was this what He had spoken about those many times before when He tried to warn us? I don’t understand, isn’t He the one who would save us?” Yet He remained silent as the bystanders around him hurled insults and spit in His face. Noise. Chaos. Silence.

Then it all went dark.

In that pit, waiting for His execution, we read Psalm 88. Pause. Read this Psalm in this context, allow the Spirit to minister to you.

I’m a very emotional being, so naturally, I wept. Nothing could have contained the waterworks that began as I felt everything He felt. They were convinced God has forsaken Him, that He had forgotten Him completely— abandoned, pierced, with nothing to look forward to but death. So they left him in that bottomless pit, drowning in a sea of sorrow as He wept in His desertion. The depth of his pain felt more real than ever before, in that small enclosed space with knowledge of what was to come looming over his head, lurking in every crevasse.

“My eyes are swollen with weeping. My arms are wide, longing for mercy, but you’re nowhere to be found. How can those who are cut off from your care even know that you are there? How can I rise up to praise you if I’m dead and gone?”

Have you ever felt alone? Jesus sees you. Have you ever felt abandoned, like your world was spinning out control? Jesus knows the feeling. Have you ever felt an overwhelming burden, too heavy to carry? He understands that too. Have you wept a sea of sorrow? He does with you. Every pain, every moment of anguish, every plea for help, He experiences it with you.

His misery concludes, “I’m drowning beneath the waves of this sorrow, cut off with no one to help. All my loved ones and friends keep far away from me, leaving me all alone with only darkness as my friend.” Even Jesus struggled with hope. Even Jesus had instances when He wanted it to just end. Moments when He felt his back pressed against the wall, the air leaving His body, as He gasped for safety, belonging, and security once again. The battle was just getting started for Him.

Leaving that house of trauma behind, He gets dragged once again along that road to annihilation. In a sea of shouting, roaring rage exploding, Body already shredded, He is forced to carry the vehicle of his completion until He could go no longer. Bleeding over that Cross before He had yet hung on it, He knew that His time had come. He freely, without any more hesitation, relinquished His life, went down to that permanently dark pit once and for all. So, sitting outside that borrowed grave, as the sun sunk in the sky, we partook of communion, our last act together in that Holy Land as my heart burned fiercely within. Blinking away tear after another, I remembered what He had done for me. What He had sacrificed for me. Who I was allowed to become because of Him. What I had finally seen firsthand because of Him.

Jesus, thank you. Thank you for it all. Thank you welcoming me into your family. For taking the once abandoned girl and turning her in to a freely, deeply, passionate, sold out for you, woman of faith. Thank you for healing her soul, with all its wounds and scars. For changing her from a cowering, fearful child to a bold, trusting daughter of the King. Thank you for giving me a new name, a new identity, and a new heart. Thank you for melting this heart and remolding it to look more like Yours. For giving me compassion and correction for a people I have wrestled with. For bringing me back to life. You died so that I could have life and to live it more abundantly than I could have before. Thank you for showing me the Land. For revealing Your goodness in the Land of the living! For radically changing me simply by bringing Your Word to life. For giving me a fresh hunger and thirst for more of who You are. For this gift I have been given to share with countless others.

So, the end is simply a beginning. We left that grave because He is no longer there. He’s inside of you and me. Thus I walk out, with a mountain, not a mustard seed, of faith. A phoenix arose from the ashes as that plane took flight, ready to embrace dying to the past and living for today. The season ahead would not be easy, full of turbulence, but I was ready to take it on for I was reminded that I am not alone.

If you get a chance, go to the Land. It’s worth the investment. Thank you for letting me take you along, though we’ve barely scratched the surface.

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FROM THE TEMPLE, INTO AL SOUQ

“An end is only a beginning in disguise.”

Thus began our last day in the Holy Land, back at the heart of Jerusalem. We started with a trip to the Western Wall, this time not simply passing by but actually spending time praying with the hearts of those who were desperately seeking His face. The wall is split into 2 sections, one for the men and the other for the women. As I approached the wall, I noticed it was littered with hundreds of scrapes of paper, place in every crevice imaginable. Women wept around me, looking for and expecting a move of God. My heart was touched by the passionate cries for change, for mountains to be moved, and for miracles to arise. It was convicting to hear such expectancy and it moved me in anticipation.

After our time in prayer, we moved on to the big, daunting part of the trip: the Temple Mount. Anxiety roared in my head as we stepped closer and closer to the faith that was once my own. I felt like I was in a trance, like I could taste a life I had turned from lurking around me, about to pounce at any moment. I felt my stomach turn on approach and every lie ever spoken by the enemy whispered in my ear. It took everything within me to not just run. I knew this time would come, for I could not enter the land without confronting the voice of the past that had been buried by truth. All I could think of was the hatred felt by generations of Arabs and Jews before me on this hotly, highly contested piece of land. It made my heart weep to think of how many people would die just to have control of this portion of ground. Here where Abraham offered Isaac, where the Temple of God held it’s stand for hundreds of years, where Mohammad ascended to heaven, where the bitterness between brothers took deep roots, and the anger I had known for too long had its source.

I turned away and breathed endless prayers on my lips, tears streaming down my face as I knew deep in my soul that I would not allow the enemy to win any longer. I walked away from the group, telling myself and the Lord that I think I now understood the reality of how broken His heart must be over the fallout of place that He had dwelt in. The fallout of the choice of pride over love. I knew I had sinned myself, harboring embitterment towards my Jewish brothers and sisters. I had let my own pride overcome, my fear of showing weakness take over when humility and grace were the true answers. I knew I could not solve this problem myself and while that may make me hopeless for a moment, I knew it makes me turn to the One who knows me completely.

I had struggled for too long trying to prove that my people were not all ugly, all anger, all evil. I had wrestled with making sure that people could see the good in the Arabs too. But I knew deep within me, I had felt the dirty, nasty parts for myself. I knew I had felt rejected, cast to the side, spit at and thrown away by my own culture. I had felt too American to be Arab and too Arab to be American for so long. My identity contended between these two sides – both good and evil and I knew I could fight no longer. The reality is – every person and culture has their good and bad sides, it is only human of them. So, exhaling in repentance and forgiveness, I looked at that Temple Mount and knew it could not control me anymore. I had look my enemy in the eye and told him no longer would this be who I choose to be. My identity is in Jesus, the Creator, the Healer, the Binder of Wounds, and ultimately, my home and citizenship is in HEAVEN.

Leaving the center of the complex, we entered into an archaeological museum known as the Davidson Center. This contained a market place from the Second Temple time to early Islamic periods, with remnants of an Umayyad era palace, and other artifacts. We stopped section of the wall, where Mohammad claimed to have tied his horse before his ascension to the heavens. We saw timelines that mapped out the area from the beginning to modern time.

Then we headed towards the Southern part of the Wall. This place was special, for here would have been the steps Jesus and other Jews of his time would have taken up into the Temple during pilgrimages on the holy days of Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot. King David himself would have taken these steps and with that in mind, we took turns reading the 15 psalms known as the Songs of Ascent as we climbed these same steps. The experience was incredible, for I had read these psalms many times but never truly understood that they were meant for the context of ushering in a heart prepared to worship the Lord. To enter the temple, you prepared your heart for repentance, glorifying Him above all else, for an attitude soft before the King above all Kings! I highly recommend reading Psalms 120-134 with eyes and ears ready to receive, under that same posture as many believers before us.

We then went on to visit the Temple Institute, found in the Jewish quarter, an incredibly fascinating movement to rebuild the Temple as Solomon’s once was. This was something wild to see, live replicas of each part of the Temple ready to come to life from the lampstands to the tables of showbread, from the Levitical robes to the Ark of the Covenant itself. It was marvelous, yet terrifying to think, that a movement to bring this to life was out there. Our tour guide expressed many concerns about this for the possibly could launching the nation into war with the Arabs to reclaim the Temple land for themselves once again, disrupting the peace and relationships they have been working so hard to achieve these last decades.

Not totally sure how to handle the information given to me, we left the temple and stepped back into noise of the city. So we enter my absolute favorite part of this trip for me, free time in al souq. Souq or marketplace, holds a very near and dear place to my heart. While many shy away from the bombardment of shop owners, the buzz of shoppers, the clamor of objects being moved around, the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked bread, sweets, and meat roasting on spits, the shine of jewelry and spools of glamorous fabrics, the illuminating sight of hundreds of herbs, spices, teas, coffee, nuts, and grains, I craved being engross into it forever.

As a kid raised mostly in America, I thought it strange how much commotion occurred around me when I last visited my birth town at the age of 10. You’d sleep to the sound of taxis honking and music blaring all night and awake to vendors selling their produce by shouting or using a megaphone. Neighbors weren’t quiet and the roar of live being lived never ceased. No matter where you went, something was always happening. I had gotten so used to it, I missed the lack of it in America quickly. I knew from the childhood that I was from a tribe of wildly, passionately people and suddenly being re-immerse in that felt natural.

A friend and I marked out our return spot on a map and so we wandered. Meandering down every street and alley of the Muslim District of the old city felt like heaven on earth. We stopped in shop after shop breathing it in, buying everything from a tea set to dozens of spices. I shared and explained different foods, spoke to many shop owners in my native tongue, many giving me the best deals once they discovered my heritage, and walked around in awe of all of how instinctive this all felt. By the time our 3 hours were up, we had walked the entire sector 3-4 times. I truly did not want to leave – it was truly extraordinary.

The Damascus Gate at the end of Muslim sector
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CAESAREA

This ancient city built by Herod the Great, named after the emperor Caesar Augustus, became the provincial capital of Roman Judea and would later be a vital early center for Christianity in the Byzantine era. We stopped at an impressive expanse of Roman ruins composed of an amphitheater, a historic port, and a large pool cutting into the sea. Down to the right, we could see an extensive archaeological park containing pillars and sculptures, a hippodrome with stone seating, and frescoes. The infamous Pontius Pilate made this city his residence. Our time here was quite short as we had arrive with less than an hour before the park closed but the excavations of the remnants of this city were quite fascinating to observe!

The finality of this trip suddenly seemed within reach. A bittersweet feeling crept into my heart as we finally came full circle with that pivotal story that began in Joppa. The Gentile inclusive church was birthed when Peter obeyed the call, surrendering his will and beliefs to the vision God gave him. His deference to God’s way and not his own, empowered an entire cultural shift as he baptized a faithful Centurion and his family into faith. In spite of seemingly committing religious suicide, we see the strengthened faith of Peter in Acts 11, “So if God gave them the same gift He gave us who believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I to think that I could stand in God’s way?”

His faith makes me think, how often do I miss out because I disobeyed when what God was asking me to do, does not make sense to me? Their lives would never be the same, because in a predominantly Gentile city, the Spirit of God fell down and altered history forever. Caesarea would become home for Phillip, a stop along the way for Paul’s missionary journeys, and a time of imprisonment for Paul for 2 years before being sent off to Rome for trial. In church history, we find out that the same tax-collecting Zacchaeus who repents and pays back what he has stolen, most likely assumes the role of the first Bishop of Caesarea! One act of faith would be rippled throughout the region to welcome in and metamorphose our world as we know it today.

We moved on to a beach not far away behind grand Roman aqueducts. There is something enchanting about the Sea near sunset. Sand under your toes, the crashing of waves as the water kisses the shore, and everything takes a pauses as the sky melts into orange, pink, and purple with the sun plummeting from the sky into the enrapture of night. It was something else on the Mediterranean, something nostalgic and serene. A mere 8 hours up the coast, my mind recalled resting my feet in the same waters 13 years before and my mind is transported home. This would be my last time on this Sea for who knows how long, so I wanted to take it all in.

With one day left in the land, I felt a yearning for more, for this trip to go on forever. There was yet more to be uncovered! I had not felt this at home for a long time, yet everything made sense in this place. In fact, many friends on this trip told me they could see me thriving here. Israel unlike any other place I had ever been, was like a colliding of my world with the future. It was the East and West coming together in unity, growing, changing, and becoming something different. I had come to see healing and revival walking hand in hand here. My hunger and desire to partake in history, culture, art, archaeology, hospitality, and so much more had been stirred unlike ever before. “I did not want to leave,” was the thought rolling in my mind as we returned to Jerusalem.

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MT. CARMEL AND MEGIDDO

“At noon Elijah began to taunt them. “Shout louder!” he said. “Surely he is a god! Perhaps he is deep in thought, or busy, or traveling. Maybe he is sleeping and must be awakened.” – 1 Kings 18:27

Wretchedly wicked was the generation of King Ahab and his Jezebel, who had led their nation wayward from the path of God, as many generations before them, abandoning their identity, trading it for child sacrifice, sexual perversion, and other dreadful activities. The words of Elijah provoked the idolatry of the Israelites, challenging 450 prophets, mocking their wooden, dead god. One who had no rival, no response when placed against the Living God, who lit that fire straight from heaven in spite the pit being drenched and saturate with water. Every time I read this story, I can’t help but chuckle at the insults of Elijah and feel awe at the power of God.

All of this in mind, we drove up Mount Carmel, near Haifa, the 3rd largest city in Israel, where this all took place. The view was breathtaking, magnificently astounding. You could see the whole land, from every direction, endless expanse colored in shades of green. At this particular lookout, arrows oriented us to what exactly we could see in the distance. Snapping away with my camera at the scene before me, I took a moment to ponder the words of Elijah, the miracle that took place on this bluff. My time here was brief, not long enough for an enormous move of God but sufficient to hear a gentle whisper on the wind.

The interesting thing is, after Elijah and hundreds with him view an active miracle of God, a bounty is place on his head and he has this momentary realization that even this boisterous, indisputable manifestation of the Living God, which should have caused a radical cultural change, did nothing for revival. In that moment, he is so overwhelmed with fear and confused by the response of the people, he panics and asks God to take him out because he had had enough.

It makes me wonder, how often in my own life am I more consumed by fear instead of trusting in God’s miraculous power? How often do I look at the “lack of immediate results,” in spite of all the effort I’ve given and just give up? How often do I lose sight of what’s valuable and true? Even after a dynamic move of God takes place, Elijah feels hopeless. So, God in all His goodness, made Elijah some food, gave him something to drink, and told him to take a nap. This doesn’t just happen one time, but several times before God calls Elijah and sets him on a 40 day journey to Mt. Horeb, to that same wilderness that Israel wandered in for 40 years, back to the place Moses received the commands that would construct the identity of the people of God. After 40 days of spiritually reviving Elijah, God speaks in a still, small voice, not in a loud boom as He had done before.

Instead of allowing him to wallow, God resets the thinking of Elijah, reminds him he is not alone, gives him things to do, casting vision for his life. I knew I was in a place similar to Elijah when I enter the Holy Land, a position of losing hope in what I was doing with my life, where I was headed, and who I was to be. As things were wrapping up, I did not have all the answers yet, but I knew that I had been renewed in faith to go searching for them once again. Looking back a year later, I’m so grateful for the scene that was set in my mind on that beautiful mount, even if it were for a moment and for the revelation I have now received from further study of the Word.

Our next stop, Tel Megiddo, the future site of the battle of Armageddon, was quite an archaeological discovery. Megiddo guarded a vital trading route linking Asia Minor, Mesopotamia, and Egypt, thus becoming the target of a long history of battles. As you climb the mount, you could see the layers of civilizations stacked upon each other, as if you were climbing through history. One corner contained stables with a disputed potential relation to either Solomon or Ahab. Further down, carved into the mountain was a Canaanite temple with a massive altar with evidence pointing to much animal sacrifice. There was a grain pit, remnants of homes, a tabun (a stone oven), remains of a palace, and so much more.

In the archaeological records, we discover at least 10 major battles taking place here, everyone wanting this stronghold, from the Canaanites, to the Egyptians, Joshua, Assyria, King Josiah, the Romans, the first Crusaders, the Muslims, Napoleon, and even the British fighting the Ottomans to end WWI. It really made the capacity of a final battle between good and evil at the end of time, quite substantive. As we descended into the cold tunnels built for the water system down below, the many characters of history had me wondering, what would happen next to this Tel and what stories it had yet to uncover.

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SUNRISE AT GALILEE TO NAZARETH

Sunrise, a time the world does not often partake of. The peaceful awakening of creation, arising slowly from its nightly slumber to a bright new day of living and breathing. When the light begins to bleed into the skyline, saturating the atmosphere. When birds sing their songs of worship and we emerge to a dawn of new beginning. I knew from the very moment I arrive in the Land, I wanted to experience at least one of these here. What better day than our last morning by the Sea of Galilee. I walked out and sat down on the ledge near my room, utterly filled with awe and wonder at how arresting the view was before me. I opened the Word and began to breath in life as the world stirred around me.

Not too long after I finished my reading, a boat came flying by, with fishermen waving at me with what appeared to be a large load of fish. It was one of those moments where everything around me stood still. I felt a smile creep onto my face imagining the disciples returning home with a haul of fish, ready to receive the blessing of the Lord and step into the calling of the day.

What did Jesus have in store for them today? What miracle could they expect to witness? Whose life would be altered forever – theirs or a desperate soul who needs rescue, maybe both? Who would they feed today? While these thoughts swirled through my mind, I felt a divine certainty in my heart that my eyes would see such rich goodness for myself. I was a little sad to be leaving the Sea but my heart full looking forward to the last two days remaining on this groundbreaking trip.

After a half an hour drive from Tiberias, we got a quick glimpse of Cana on our way into the Arab Capital of Israel, the hometown of Jesus, Nazareth. Our tour guide spontaneously recommended a quick stop to pick up what he dubbed the best baklava in all of Israel. It was like getting a glimpse into heaven stepping into that sweets shop. The window was lined with all kinds of different small pastries and I helped explain what each was to those with me. A little kid in a candy store could not compare to how I felt in that moment, enthralled by every sugar-filled item around.

Baklava holds a special place in my heart as I have joyfully labored over it for many hours for Christmas for the last 8 years. It was extra special to see it done to such array and grandeur, unlike I had seen or partaken of since I was 11 years old. While this might seem insignificant to most, something about that small bite into the syrupy, crunchy delight transported me into the rose-colored nostalgia of standing in the midst of a confectionery in the streets of Latakia, my hometown. I knew in that moment; something was special about Nazareth.

Our main stop in town was at the Nazareth Village, a living history museum of Jesus’ time, with period actors in costume, reenacting different types of characters. This quickly became one of my favorite spots in the whole Land. In this museum, we explored under the guidance of a local Arab Christian tour guide, who spoke the Bible off the pages with every word that came from his lips. To help set the scene, we saw a shepherd, a carpenter, a weaver, and a farmer. The backdrop featured a vineyard, a threshing floor, an olive press, a synagogue, a wine press, terraced fields, and a couple of sheep.

Olive Tree

He connected many scriptures to each stop along the way, but I was deeply touched by what he said at the olive press. He correlated the process of creating the olive oil to the Garden of Gethsemane, an olive grove with a press at its heart. When you make oil, you start by placing the olives into a round stone, where it gets crushed under an upright stone with a hole in the middle to create a pulp. Here’s when it gets interesting. Producers of oil than place the paste into baskets and stack them up under weights held up by a rod to release the oil.

It then gets pressed 3 times, each one lasting an hour. The first press, the holiest, purest oil, would be used in the Temple for cleansing and anointing. In that olive grove the night of His death, Jesus spent time praying over a period of 3 hours. In that first hour, He realized and willingly admit what He had to do. Pressed to the point of sweating blood, He knew He would fulfill the Law, the perfect sacrifice needed for sin, becoming that Temple offering burned for me and you.

The second pressing is used for cooking. It is not as pure as the first but it still has nutrition and substance to it. In that Garden, the second hour of prayer, Jesus admitted that the flesh was weak, though His Spirit was willing. He knew His body would have to be broken, as bread would be every time we partook of a meal or communion. He truly became the DAILY Bread of Life in this moment.

The 3rd and final pressing would be used in lighting lamps because this would be the dirtiest oil. It had functionality, but was filled with the remnant of the olives. Jesus tells us that He would be the Light of the World, a city set on a hill, as we ought to be too. In that Garden, knowing His light would fade out soon, He came to terms with the reality of His impending death and what He had to do. In that final hour, He poured out all that remained of His earthly will and became intertwined with His Heavenly Calling.

Tears streamed down my face, chills running up my back as I felt the Holy Spirit so profoundly in that moment. While my time in Gethsemane was short, I could picture this as reality unlike ever before. He did this all for me. For love. I honestly could never look at oil the same way ever again. The parallels were undeniable, the connection so profound.

He went on and pointed out that in the distance, you could see Mt. Carmel, our next stop of the day. Jesus speaks out of Isaiah saying, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” He said this would be fulfilled today and he was ridiculed for it. He talks about the miracles Elijah walked out in and how they got him killed, because a prophet was not welcome in their own home. This preaching in the synagogue nearly got him stone out of town because they were very aware of the miracles of Elijah and to them it sounded like an insult for, he was the carpenter’s son, right?

Listening to the Word like this set my heart on fire afresh. A hunger for more arose within me once again. My eyes widen in astonishment and adoration at who He was. Nazareth created in me a yearning and desire to press in unlike ever before, to consume of physical and spiritual bread wholeheartedly.

Middle Eastern Oregano, used in making Za’atar, a herb blend which is made up of hyssop, thyme, sesame seeds, and some spices like sumac, cumin, or coriander.
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BAPTISM IN THE JORDAN

//Baptizo// BAPTIZE:

  1. to dip repeatedly, to immerse, to submerge (of vessels sunk)
  2. to cleanse by dipping or submerging, to wash, to make clean with water, to wash one’s self, bathe
  3. to overwhelm

I have been baptized before. In a season where everything needed to be sealed in a new faith that I did not have before. I know deep in my heart that my first baptism in that salty ocean 7 years ago, was life changing. Yet I felt such a new stirring within me that I needed to seal in what God had done in me over this trip with baptism. To submerge the things needed to die. To cleanse and make clean the slate once again. To overwhelm the grave with NEW LIFE. With new identity, new belief, new freedom. Now I know baptism is not my source of salvation, the blood of Jesus’ death on the Cross is.

But I also know the importance of a transaction of faith, of obedience. I know God had some things to tell me in those waters. His Holy Spirit pierced me straight to the heart with words undeniably certain. I had an opportunity to share my testimony a few days before this and I did not understand how releasing of His power it would be until this moment. I took a step of faith and stood first in line because I was hungry to hear from Heaven. Even now, as I write, I weep as I hear these prophetic words afresh watching that video over and over again. God met me so profoundly, it was indisputable.

Pastor Phil: “For daughter I have had My hand upon you and My eye upon you for many, many years. In the times of woe, and the times of hurt and the times of pain, I have been there. I am the God who brings healing and restoration. I didn’t intervene in the inner part but I do now because I have come to do a deep work in your spirit and your soul. I come to bring healing that will last a lifetime. The greatest healing is that of your mind. Know that you have been My little girl from the very moment you were placed on this earth and I have longed for you, even as you longed for me. And what lies ahead is an amazing journey of You and I together, allowing My spirit to continue mold and change you. For daughter I have much in store for you and blessings. Thank you, my daughter, for enduring for you will help others to endure and to know My love.”

Pastor Tom: “Healing indeed. Healing, indeed.”

Pastor Joe: “Lydia, though your name on this earth may have been in question in times, now solidified, know your identity has always been firm. Always been established. You have always been the daughter of the King of Kings. You stand here now cemented in that to an even greater degree, knowing this is way bigger than you, that you are a part of something God has woven together for eternity.”

Tom Thompson: “Lydia, you are a precious gem in your Father’s sight and you are of the utmost importance to Him. He’s going to do a mighty work here today in your life. Gems are formed by pressures and unpleasant circumstances but those things are in the past now. You are your Father’s gem.”

“O Lord, my healing God, I cried out for a miracle and you healed me! You brought me back from the brink of death, from the depths below. Now here I am, alive and well, fully restored!” – Psalm 30:2-3 TPT

All I can do is weep with revelation, in awe and reverence of the Hand of God woven throughout the fabric of my life. To receive such powerful vision from the Holy Spirit wrecks me. If you have been following this journey, you know I had been seeking healing with a deep, fervent desperation. My #1 strength according to Strengthfinder’s is BELIEF. I am firm in my belief; it takes a mountain moving to change what I believe. In most instances, it is a wonderful thing. It means I will fight for what I believe with all that I am. On the flip side, it means I can be immensely stubborn in my wrong thinking and unbelief. But I knew baptism would mean stripping away everything that had held me back, every lie, all unbelief, which I have held so tenaciously to.

These words spoken are earth-shaking, they are a softening of every mistrust, every disbelief, every failing. They are a vital response to prayer. It was a necessary restoration of what I had lost sight of and the beginning of a process of unraveling the things that needed God’s healing touch. For the first time in a LONG time, I was renewed, filled with new joy, and anticipation for what was to come. I left wholly revived in and by the waters of that Jordan River.

“Then he broke through and transformed all my wailing into a whirling dance of ecstatic praise! He has torn the veil and lifted from me the sad heaviness of mourning. He wrapped me in the glory garments of gladness. How could I be silent when it’s time to praise you? Now my heart sings out loud, bursting with joy—a bliss inside that keeps me singing, “I can never thank you enough!”” -Psalm 30:11-12 TPT