More for me, More for you

I think it is a poverty mentality that tells me that the pie is a limited one. If you take a slice, there is less for me. Or if you have a whole pie, that means I don't get one at all.

Perhaps wanting the best for others comes naturally for some, and I thought I did it naturally too. Till recently when I saw that I was just thinking the right thoughts but my heart wasn't in it. That's how I could say the right things, but the same yucky feelings would pop up and I'd squash them. Feelings are sometimes like termites; the correct structure can be in place but the beams are hollow.

Wanting the best for others, their dreams to come true, their children to be brilliant, for multi generational wealth doesn't seem like it should cost me anything. But it does. It feels like dying.

I thought...God wants the best for all of us, but it doesn't cost Him anything. Oh. Wait. It did.

I can't want the best for others without it costing me something, because my pie is limited. I have to die, give Him my pie, and He gives me His. Unlimited pie. Delicious pie. Pie A La Mode. :)

It still feels like I'm dying, but that's ok. I heard a wise guy say that jealousy just means that we don't trust God to love on us and bless us. While I'm hoping and praying for abundance for others, I'm going to press in to His heart and learn to trust. My trusting is a bit spotty, so learning should be fun. Kind of like breathing water. :)

Silence and the Voice

I would say I've never been able to hear God's voice very well. At one time, not at all. That is, I hear more now than ever...and while the amount is still unsatisfactory, it is sooo good compared to the old days.

I asked Jesus into my heart when I was six, and since I was from a 'Christian' home, fell into 'Christian' behavior very easily. 'Conviction' (condemnation) was a constant friend. I looonged for Jesus to talk to me audibly, and I'd squinch my eyes shut and focus for the still small voice. But I never heard it.

By the time I was a teen, my desire for His presence and His voice was a constant burn. But I still couldn't hear Him. I had a habit of filling my head with fantasies from the thirty some odd books I read weekly in order to quiet my soul, and at some point around the age of seventeen, I chose to stop.

The silence in my head was palpable and intense. Except for the jibbering voice of me. The feelings of exposure and fear and vulnerability were overwhelming.

Every morning I'd walk down the trail to our goat barn to milk six goats. Spring was the best time for that; I loved birth and I loved babies. I loved watching the maternal instinct in action. As I'd swing me leg over our electric fence, I'd pray. God, talk to me. God, what do you want to say? Please God, it's me, Jessica.

This is what I'd hear; "Jessica, you're beautiful. Jessica, I love you so much. Jessica, you're gorgeous and brilliant."

This is what I'd say back; "Jessica, shut up. Jessica, shut up...you aren't God."

I knew I needed to hear those things. I wanted it soooo bad. I believed I was filling that quiet space with what I wanted God to say, and I didn't believe it because it was so good. Too good.

And I shut that Voice down. The only voice I'd allow to speak would be the corrective ones.

But I missed it. I missed looking at the part of my soul that quivered when I allowed that voice to speak. Like a child rolling her eyes when her Daddy calls her pretty, I avoided it. My fear of allowing pride to grow, just encouraged pride and fear to grow.

What happens when you don't believe what God says about you? You have to find another label. Where are you getting it? I got mine from others. Whatever other people said, be it good or evil, I took it. But it wasn't Truth.

The Truth was what I refused to hear, and it left me empty, nameless and hungry. I think that's enough of that, so I'm listening now.