While I am working on my next book about the Glory of God - His manifest presence and manifestations of His presence - I've decided to invite you along on my journey.

Come with me as I encounter the glory of God's love in the springtime among the gentle mountain streams of Virginia; the glory of Jesus' healing power manifested in healing revivals; the glory of Jesus blessing covenental love and adorning His bride with gems; what it means to be enraptured in the glory of His presence manifest; and all the expressions of glory that come to us and spill out from us to others.

In a sense, this blog is going to become "Momma Julia's Rough Guide to Glory"...a travelogue. I welcome your comments on my postings and cherish your insights as well.

May the glory of God envelop you as you read,

"momma" Julia
http://www.julialoren.net/

May 10-11, Lakeland, FL:

I went into the central, land-filled swamps of Florida over the weekend to see a reed swayed by the wind.

I went to see the tattooed and pierced holy man, Todd Bentley, a raving young man, moving counter culturally to the religious, well-dressed church goers of the day. Born centuries after John the Baptist, this Canadian evangelist epitomizes one whom Jesus called the least in the kingdom of heaven who is greater than John the Baptist. He is one reported to release the glory of God through the manifestation of healing in his meetings.

I went to see the crowds; to be able to say, “I was there” in case it becomes recorded as a historic event on the timeline of revival history.

I went to see what Jesus had to say about the ravings of the lunatic John the Baptist; to see what Matthew 11 is all about and undeniably saw that the kingdom of God has been forcefully advancing since the times of John the Baptist. The crowds who heard the music of the hour and rejoiced in the miracles mixed with those who did not dance or rejoice in the miracles of healing taking place all around them.

I had heard the reports about this 32 year old Todd - some good, some bad. Like John the Baptist, the wild man, young evangelist faced accusers who claimed, “He has a demon.” He was quite the teenage sinner and openly admits a prison record. Like John the Baptist, Todd was in prison. He is also like Jesus in that he attracts the gluttons and drunkards, and is a friend of tax collectors, drug addicts, ex-cons, prostitutes and perverts, and all variety of “sinners.” Jesus moved in the spirit, amazed the crowds by what He did and offended the minds of others by what He said.

I went out to see the reed swaying in the wind of the Holy Spirit - having heard about the instability of the reed and the strength of the wind.

Todd’s past was dealt with early on before he was launched into ministry…and even later on. After being in international ministry for some years, Todd faced an emotional meltdown on a platform in England that was likely brought on by the haunting wounds of his youth that forced their way to the surface. His inner core being unable to withstand the pressures of constantly moving under the anointing of God and the scrutiny of men, begged for healing. At the urging of his board and fathers in the faith, Todd stepped aside for a full year to move deeply and willingly into the healing presence of Jesus. He embraced the ministry of many counselors to deal with root issues in his life – before they could manifest in sinful reactions. He is now more emotionally solid and equipped and healed than many men in ministry who have never taken time out to sit at the feet of Jesus and submit to His loving power to heal the deep inner wounds. And he has a multitude of counselors who watch over him, ready to catch him should he even hint at stumbling or should others call out for his head on a platter.

I went out to see the reed swaying in the wind of the Holy Spirit and his skin.

Thank God, our skin is no longer under the condemning old covenant of Biblical, religious law. I had read the internet accounts from those offended by the music of the hour – the worship and the joy – whose orphan spirit caused them to shy away from the glory of God to scream out old covenant accusations against a brother like, “Todd has tattoos that may mean satanic things and writing on skin is expressly forbidden in the Bible.” I had peeked at his skin and saw the markings of a bond slave of Jesus Christ and the New Covenant covering the scars that slashed deeply into his wrists and arms and soul during his tumultuous Baal-worshipping youth. I saw the kanji lettering that gives honor to the Great King, and calls for equilibrium to be found in the middle of Him. I saw the Lion of Judah, the scriptures and scenes spread out haphazardly all over his body as if graffiti artists spray painted the outer walls of the temple. But it is this graffiti that is the street art of the day and tells a story on the walls of a city and calls forth the people of the street to join the gang…the gang of Christ. The least in the kingdom has become greater than John the Baptist who focused on repentance…The least focuses on grace. The least releases the glory of Jesus and manifestations of Jesus’ presence through His healing power. The least may not look presentable or wise.

But wisdom is proved right by her actions.

The actions of Todd challenged me. Indeed, I could not help but examine my own unbelief under the microscope of Jesus, who after commenting on John the Baptist in Matthew 11, began to denounce the cities in which most of his miracles had been performed, because they did not repent. Apparently, the cities that embrace the miracles are the ones that position themselves to receive a lasting revival and ongoing urban transformation.

"Woe to you, Korazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! If the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes.

The actions of Todd challenged me to enter into childlike faith - for my own healing...and for an increase in the presence and power of Christ to move in me and through me to touch other lives. If revival doesn't last in my city, I at least want childlike faith and trust in Jesus to last in me.

... At that time Jesus said, "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure

I've gone home from Lakeland, yet Todd's actions still stir me to drop the critical nature about things that are beyond my experience and reach up and out for an increase in childlike faith. Only the children can truly receive the hidden things of Jesus and believe the outrageous manifestations of His glory released through healing – Christians and unbelievers alike…freely given without condition for this is the father’s pleasure that His children be healed. Healing is scriptural. Power evangelism is scriptural. Seeing angels is scriptural. The strangest insights into the heavenly realm are reserved for little children. The wise and the learned usually miss out.

I went to see a reed swaying in the wind and the glory of God expressed in healing revivals. And I was not disappointed.

I saw the glory captured on the expression of a single face that tells the story of a hundred, perhaps a thousand others who have attended the meetings.

Todd stood in the middle of two lines of people flowing past him to receive a touch of anointing oil and impartation for power; joy and passion sparkled in evident delight in his eyes as he prayed for thousands of people moving past. I walked by him and felt the presence of God as his oil-smeared palm lightly touched my forehead. Then I lingered off to the side to watch the others walk by and move back towards their seats.

One elderly man practically skipped through the end of the anointing line pushing a wheelchair with a small crowd of family members trailing behind him. The sheer joy on his face told the whole story as it suddenly dawned on me that the man was pushing the wheelchair that his relatives has brought him in. It held nothing now but a couple of folding chairs that his relatives had been sitting in. Just that one healing, that one glimpse of sheer joy mingling with the glory of God on his elderly face as he pushed his old chair along, was enough for me to believe.

I had seen more than a reed swaying in the wind. I had seen man, one of hundreds, undeniably healed as a manifestation of the presence of God’s love moving during a meeting facilitated by a tattooed and pierced, young holy man.

I had glimpsed the glory of God awakening hearts to a Father who loves us enough to heal us…for He forgives all of our sins and heals all of our diseases…

Even yours!

From “Momma Julia’s Rough Guide to Glory”
Blog #2
http://www.julialoren.net/
http://juliascribe.blogspot.com/

Allegheny Mountains, Virginia May 3, 2008:

I heard the news that Lakeland Florida was experiencing a healing revival. Weeks later, I grew curious as internet reports and television generated an extraordinary amount of excitement. Was it hype or revival?

I had some need of physical healing that I was sure a doctor could heal but why not go? I had been crying out for a year – show me your glory. Release to me a deeper revelation of your glory….your manifest presence within and manifestations of your presence surrounding me. Perhaps this place of present outpouring of a healing revival also contained some of the expressions of glory that I longed to see. If not, it would be great fun to see an old fashioned open air revival reminiscent of the 1940’s and 1950’s with Pentecostal preachers shouting and people swooning into the arms of healing angels.

So, I decided to go. After all I was working on the east coast for awhile. It would be an easy flight down to Tampa. I thought I would book a flight for the following weekend and meet some friends who would be there too. But the Lord had other plans. He called me to go north to the wilderness instead…not south to the revival.

I’ve known the Lord long enough to know that His ways are not our ways. When people are flying south, He calls some of us north and others to remain home. He meets us everywhere for where we are, there He is with us. But when He speaks a specific direction to us, we’d best heed His voice or miss out on an intended blessing. Especially when He whispers something as soft and sweet as this,

Come away with me beloved. See the winter has passed…

You would think that I would respond to the romantic overture but instead I said, “But Lord the revival is south and you are calling me to come up to the mountains of Virginia and be with you. Have you got your directions mixed up?”

And there in the wilderness I will show you my love. Come away with me. And there I will reveal my glory.

So I thought about what to pack. I thought to bring a couple novels…but felt the Lord say leave them. I thought to bring a movie or two. Come be with me. Should I bring my laptop? Just with me. How about my cell phone? You won’t have reception where I am taking you. Suddenly I became anxious. What would I do with nothing but Jesus for company? Hmmm…how about my flute? Fine. I’d love to hear it. What if it rains and I am housebound? Should I at least bring a Bible? If you must. As for food, am I fasting? No one fasts when the bridegroom is among them. Come and be with me. Just me and you alone in the spring.

And so I went to a place a friend recommended in the Allegheny Mountains about four hours away from where I was working.

Grumbling about the long drive I found myself a little lost despite the printed directions and the ever present NeverLost gps system attached to the rental car…a system that I have learned to distrust over the years. Whining my way along the drive I said, “Lord I think I am lost”. And heard him reply, How can you be sure you’re lost if you’ve never been this way before?

Good point.

Trust me.

Finally, the map and the gps got into sync and I knew I was on the right road so I started to relax. After awhile of driving in silence I said, “Lord what am I doing here? Once again I am taking off for a weekend alone instead of being with friends in the middle of a revival.”

You are in the right place at exactly the right time. Trust me.

Trust seemed to be the emerging theme of the weekend. After a few hours of windy roads, the mountains gave way to rushing streams and outbursts of the aching green of early spring intermittingly spotted by the snowy white dogwoods in bloom. Surrounded by beauty my spirits rose. Eventually, I found my place of residence and settled in for the weekend. Wide lawns greeted me and a little stream sang and laughed its way alongside the little condo that was to be mine for a couple of days. I felt overjoyed to be in such a beautiful place. But the joy was not to last long.

As soon as I pulled out my beach chair to sit beside the stream coursing alongside my patio a neighbor pulled out the pressure washer and went about his noisy task. So, more than a little miffed at the assault on my privacy, I fled to the local hot spring for a good long soak. Driving back up to the place I noticed that the riding lawnmowers were now out in force, crawling over the estate like giant bees humming an obnoxious sound. Now I was angry. I stormed into the house and threw an ugly rant out loud knowing that the no one could hear me above the noise. I was surprised at the heat in my fury and let it rage unchecked for awhile, venting all the pent up stress and anger that had been building for months. How good it felt to throw a tantrum…the beloved turned into a momentary shrew. Then I fled into the quiet of my car, sped down the hill for an early dinner of pizza and wine.

Subdued, I tentatively returned to find my place again a peaceful oasis. So I went inside, sat on the couch, stared at the walls for an hour or so and finally whispered, “Here I am. Where are you?”

The following day, I walked up the hill to a large estate and wandered about freely, enjoying the views of the hills in the distance, the valley below. Well, what do I do with myself now?

Come away with me beloved. Let me lead you beside still waters and restore your soul.

So I drove along a river road and pulled off where I thought there might be a fisherman’s trail along the river and was right. I walked until my thoughts finally faded away. No longer tuned into my noisy inner chatter, I began to see the tiny lavender flowers and mini-white wild flower bouquets along the path nestled in baby ferns. For you my beloved.

I smiled at the thought of God romancing me. Suddenly a little lavender flower took flight and my eyes drifted upwards until I noticed all the butterflies in soft pastels of yellow, blue and feathery blacks and browns flitting all around me like flowers in flight. The scent of dusky roses wafted past on a gentle breeze from some tree in bloom I had yet to see. Almost heaven. There, a fingerling trout leapt upstream as I wandered to a little rapids walking gingerly out to mid-stream stepping on stones placed there just for my feet and sat in the middle of the white water roar untouched by even a droplet of water. I sat there a long while letting the stress and cares of the world lift off of me and drop carelessly into the waters rushing past. But rocks lack cushion and after a while I moved on walking unsteadily from rock to rock, downstream until I reached the shore again.

I came to a path marked by a No Trespassing sign and could not resist treading on someone’s sacred hunting grounds. I saw no hunters or fisherman on this stretch and as I had neither gun nor reel, what could happen? The southern gentlemen of these parts would probably just give a nod to this old nature girl. With childhood glee at breaking the rules, sliding down the path to the river’s edge I saw the most beautiful spot imagined - a deep pool with water flooding in and round flat stones waiting for me at the water’s edge. It was time to reclaim the lost childhood art of skipping stones across a river. After a dozen or more attempts to skip one completely across, I finally found the perfect stone, a crystalline white flat stone, light but broad and gave it a hurl…skipped it three, four, six times straight across to the other side. “Whuhuu!” I shouted! I felt like Huck Finn’s cohort and Jesus was the instigator of a day playing hookey, advocating laziness and lounging by a southern stream on a warm spring day giving my winterized flesh a chance to begin its slow roast into a summer-colored skin.

I was in glory and wheeled to face the creator standing all around as I heard Him say, This is my glory revealed to you today.

The glory of romping like a child with the Creator in the midst of His creation, not a care in the world, this moment, in this day, the most exquisite sense of delight in God’s manifest presence that I had felt in a very long time, years even… sad but true.

That night I played my flute for Him. I had not played it in a year. I felt like my song had just been restored in the woods and my flute now harmonized with their sounds – nature and I in worship.

Yet by morning my thoughts and cares rumbled up before breakfast and so I rose hastily and turned on some worship music wondering what I should do that day. Where should we go, Lord? What do you want to do today?

Let’s climb a mountain.

Climb we did until I felt spent, my thoughts trampled upon with every step until all my unbelief and anxieties were pulverized into nonexistence, and sweat dripped down my back and a little blood trickled down from my kneecap where a stick had jumped out and bit me. A couple hours of up then down, I returned to the car. What now?

I will lead you beside still waters and restore your soul.

And so I drove to the lake side where I unfolded my beach chair in the shelter of some thick-trunked trees that offered a wind break and sat down for a little rest.

We sat in silence until the wind came up stronger. And I asked, “Should we leave?”

No. You can rest in the midst of a little windstorm. Trust me.

The wind blew stronger but the air still felt warm enough to face the wind and sit there watching a stealth muskrat, his nose plowing the waters, his body hidden in the wind-stirred murk of the nearby banks heading straight for a goose who alerted his friends and then the geese all wisely deciding to jump out of the water and head for more sheltered space on land.

Should we go?

No, rest.

Rest in the midst of the winds blowing and shifting and watch the beauty of the ripples on the water. Watch the action of the incoming boats, one towing three huge men in a small skiff who had ventured out with only a tiny electric trolling motor. A comical sight, I could not help but laugh. While the wind blew I simply sat and watched the world in all its glory in motion – trees waving, water rippling into whitecaps, crows pretending to be hawks circling overhead and diving into oblivion. Finally, I felt like it was time to go back and see what Jesus had in store for the evening.

I spent the evening in worship. I felt His presence so near, so present, so peaceful that I thought it could not get any better than that. But it did. I felt the breath of His spirit blow into my spirit expanding like a balloon within me. Breathing life into my spirit, expanding my spirit. Some new sense of unity filling me. And I knew that I knew, that I am my beloveds and my beloved is mine. That no matter where I am or think I should be - we are there together.

And then I felt a shift as soon as I lay back on the couch. It was like lying back into a pool of water, full submersion, floating face up about a foot beneath the surface. I could see the dark water sparkle like wind rippling the surface of the water into white just inches above me. Fully engulfed in His glory I felt like I was now seeing through His eyes, feeling the realm of His presence all around me, under me, over me, full immersion, wonderfully drowning in Him. I lingered there in the deep waters, lying there in my baptism of total abandonment, absolute trust. It was a mikvah of sorts, a commissioning to carry the glory of His love. And rising from the waters, the air expanding in my spirit once again, I heard Him say,

Welcome to the resurrection of the glory of my love.

The glory of His love – isn't that what we are all looking for in our private worship times and in the midst of powerful meetings? I felt not the first love giddiness of an adolescent or the sparkly adorning glory of bridal love, but the mature essence of His presence resurrecting an old love and causing me to fall in love with Him all over again, full immersion, a unity that I had not felt before. The relationship had changed. I understood more fully now, that the glory of His love is the beginning and the end of all the manifestations of His glory.

I prayed that weekend, this simple prayer:

Lord, write your glory upon my life. Show me the many facets of your glory until I become a display of your glory. Show me the glory of your love, your glory manifested in healing revival, your glory manifestations of bridal love, Christ in me the hope of glory, Christ in the world today in all His glory, the river of glory carrying us all away, all the glory I have never even imagined or seen.

And I felt like I already had the beginning of my answer imparted with the previous night’s revelation of the resurrection of my awareness of the glory of His love for me. It is a glory that begins with trusting Jesus and submerging into the depths of His love. It is a glory that breathes His breath of love deep within our spirit, expanding our capacity to receive His love. It is the beginning of understanding His glory and our final destination – into His arms of love. So when I talk about glory in all its various expressions, what I am really talking about is His love revealed in many ways.

Yet it takes a profound trust in Jesus to let go of the critical thoughts of what glory should look like. It takes trust to step closer to Jesus and let yourself go deeper into intimacy with Him. Trust enables us to flow in the directions He carries us rather than fight against the current. Trust that Jesus will make an excellent guide on this rough journey to discover His glory enables us to stumble along at His side. Only a taste of His love enables us to trust. And so this weekend that resurrected the glory of His love revealed was an apt beginning to this journey of discovering the many facets of God’s glory manifest on the earth today.

All too soon, my deep, restful retreat in nature ended and I packed up for the long drive back to the Hampton Roads area of Virginia, got in the car and started down the country road towards the freeway feeling a little sorry for myself that the wonderful weekend had come to a close. But God decided to add a little humor to the end of this great weekend away.

Passing the Lickety Split ice cream parlor I got a sudden craving, abruptly pulled a u-turn and stopped in just in time to hear old, blind Joe sitting on the cement porch playing his country songs on a weathered guitar. So I ordered and licked a cone alongside a group of local women sitting at a picnic table nodding to me as if I were kinfolk, each one looking as if they had eaten so much ice cream that they had become a two-for-one special in a muumuu dress. After a song or three I resumed my journey. Passing a lone house with two life-sized dummies, ma and pa, sitting high up on the front porch for the tourists to gawk at – after all, that is what we tourists expect to see in the south – people just sitting on their porches hour after hour, doin’ nothin’ but watching the world go by like a couple of dummies. And gawk I did until I laughed out loud and didn’t stop laughing until a sign nailed on a tree caught my eye like a wink from God. It simply read,

“Trust Jesus”.

From "Momma Julia's Rough Guide to Glory"
blog #1
http://www.julialoren.net/
http://juliascribe.blogspot.com/