Flatulent Laughter

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2. Vulnerable

   Raw

   Unraveling

   January 3, 2019

   This is the year of abundance, acceleration, new wine, restoration, unlocking, overflowing… or so my prophetic heart says. And so the school of prophets around the world concur.

   January 1, 2019

   I drive to Fresno to Bakersfield to work. I ask the Lord for a word for the year. He tells me exhilaration. I drive home that evening and ask the LORD, “That’s my word, right?” Then I hear the word extraordinary. I pray more and ask seriously, “So is my word exhilaration or extraordinary?” I want to be sure I get the right word.

   It is quiet in my car as I am conversing with my Father. The radio is off, highway 99 is dark and empty. I imagine God, sitting in the passenger seat, riding with me on the way home. I talk to him as if he is physically sitting there, out loud, mostly, because I am alone. And after I ask my question I hear the Lord say, “Flatulent, that is your word.” And the sound of laughter exuding out of the empty space in my car fills my mind and I realize that my God is cracking a joke.

   “I’m serious God, I want to know what my word is. Flatulent is not my word!” I am flustered, this is serious. I am trying to be sure I get the right word for this next season to have vision and something to hold onto. But it doesn’t stop. He keeps laughing, like a belly wrenching laugh and I am flabbergasted.

   “What? That can’t be my word!” passing gas with a sound coming out of my butt is not a spiritual word or vision. But it is. And so is exhilaration and so is extraordinary. God shared with me what it means and how it all pans out…

   This year will be exhilarating and I will encounter extraordinary people and I will learn to laugh at the stinky situations, like people do when they fart… flatulent.

   And so I ponder and absorb the words into my soul to prepare for the next season.

   January 2, 2019

   Coffee with my husband in the morning. We feel stagnant. We feel stuck. We had prepared for this new season for month, anticipating, expecting, praying, fasting, dreaming, talking, meetings, visions, prophetic words. The stench of stagnation overwhelms us and we are just done. So done. Get us out of this LORD. This is not exhilarating or extraordinary at all… it is stinky though. But I am not laughing.

   Years and years of waiting, trusting and believing God. Waiting for this moment in the earth. For the open heavens to release a flood of all those things we have labored for in prayer, in hope, in sorry…And we sit. Figuratively and literally. Sitting on the sidelines, in the pews. I am about to burst out of my skin, but it keeps the explosion neatly tucked away, allowing small bouts of frustration to seep out of my mouth to my husband.

   My husband says, “He’s done.” I am done. We were not created to sit and watch people play in the game. To sit and watch people play multiple positons while the rest of the team, sit and watch. People who are linebackers and receivers and tight ends, and D ends and running backs… But the quarterback tries to play all positions and then complains when a touchdown is never scored.

   Being unseen, but bursting with knowledge and wisdom and experience and giftings and talents and callings and vision. Expecting change but mundane persists. We are pushed aside again, asked to jump through hoops, and wait to be included by the quarterback. My heart is heavy and I sit in the pew, listening to old wine. Maintaining the old wine skins.  And so the lava of my pent up life begins to spill out in frustration and short temperedness and anxiety and fatigue.

   But wait there is more... Satan kicks us when we are down and trials and tribulations surround my grown children and I feel like I failed as a mother, I don’t know how to help, fear swirls around me like a reckless tornado. I am overwhelmed, but not by the grace of God. Not because I am exhilarated. I don’t know how to fix it, how to let go, how to embrace the present circumstances of married children dealing with their own struggles. With grown children dealing with their deep wounds. It is hard and stinky, but I am not laughing.

   I yell at my husband when he moves the clothes on the bed that I am folding, because the lava is seeping out. I tell him it is happening, but he does not understand the depth of the well that holds all that is within me.

   January 3, 2019

   11:20pm

   It is almost a new day. I am vulnerable and raw. I felt led to start up RAW ministries again, after being on sabbatical for almost 2 years, but I am stuck. I am about to blow… I am flatulenting… It is not pretty, it is stinky and loud. I cannot hide it. Anxiety rises and I try to push it down…

   It feels old, old wine in old wine skins. It feels the same, it smell stagnant. I am tired and have to go to work tomorrow, leaving me not enough time to do all the things I dream to do, all the visions God put into my heart. It makes me feel like a fraud.

   Perhaps I can laugh in the morning with His mercies falling on me. But as the day comes to end, I curl up into my bed, next to the man who carries the weight of this with me, who takes the brunt of my intensity, whose frustration pushes up against mine in conflict and we close our eyes in silent prayer, waiting for the new day.

   Hopefully, when I wake up, I will be laughing.
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