The Making of A Monarch

 The Making of a Monarch 

By Lori Green

Inching. 

Crawling my way.

Keeping my head above water.

It seems things never change.

Changing. 

Shedding my old way.

But still, I’m stuck here.

Will I ever leave this place?

Growing?

I don’t know how to know.

What do I measure myself by?

It’s hard to see the growth.  

Hanging. 

I’m being still like You said.

I’m trusting You with everything.

I’m shedding what you said to shed.

Wilting.

I’m shedding skin again.

My legs are gone, I’m holding on. 

Dear God, is this the end?

Quiet.

I’m covered and staying still.

It’s dark and cold but I’m trusting You.

Things are becoming more clear.

Shifting.

I’m beginning to see the light.

I feel a new day dawning.

I’m ready to emerge and fight!

Emerging.

I’m coming out brand new.

You told me I’d be different.

You gave me the light, the way, the truth. 

Transforming.

My past has become unrecognizable.

You’ve given me new abilities.

Your power is undeniable.

Joyful.

I’m bringing joy wherever I go.

You took something ugly and made it beautiful.

Now the world can truly know.

Glory. 

You give beauty for ashes.

Oil of joy for mourning. 

Garments of praise for heaviness. 

That you can receive the glory. 

I give you glory in this transformation. 

It’s not by might or power. 

It’s only by your spirit. 

I will be still and let you heal me. 

I’ll be empty so you can fill me. 

I’m yours. Every part. 

You’re making me a Monarch. 

1 Peter 2:9

9 But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light

According to Merriam-Webster a monarch is:

1 : a person who reigns over a kingdom or empire: such as

1. a sovereign ruler
2. a constitutional (see CONSTITUTIONAL
   entry 1 sense 3) king or queen

1. one that holds preeminent position or power cotton, monarch of the textile world
   Wall Street Journal
2. MONARCH BUTTERFLY
3. 
   

May 29, 2024

Perhaps it’s time to meet my teacher, Grief.

Perhaps it’s time to meet my teacher, Grief. 

There is a time you come into in life where you will meet a teacher called grief. While some may meet this friend earlier,  most meet this friend for the first time in their late 20’s. 

Grief comes to teach us how to handle what we have lost, and also how to accept what we have never gained. We can only Grieve things we can NOT change: Maybe something as simple as hair loss or a scar. Maybe the loss of mobility, innocence or youthfulness. Maybe you grieve the years gone by. Or the moments that never came for you.  Maybe the dream wedding you didn’t get to have. The child you have never conceived.  Or the death of a pet, a loved one or family member.

This year has even been a year we could honestly grieve.  We have missed out on a lot of life moments and memories. We have seen death and disease like never before.  In a sense, our normality was lost. 

Grief comes in and almost forces you to face the facts. She seems to appear at the most inopportune times.  A friend’s wedding, a holiday, a new baby’s arrival, a birthday.   She shows up out of no where and requests your attention.  When we fight her teaching, we end up on a vicious cycle of denial, rejection and depression. 

However obtrusive she may feel, she is not your enemy. She is your companion.  Take her hand and let her be a part of your life this Season. Today.   While, she is a constant reminder of what you have never had, or had and then lost, she is also a teacher. 

What can she teach?   

She can teach you how to live life to the fullest.  

To treasure days of health and community.  

To be intentional with your family time. 

To connect to others in the ways that you can do. 

To build community in your world. 

Grief will not leave you wanting to never love again.  When she is done teaching, you will be ready to build another friendship, learn a new way to accept the new you, to reach out to someone, make time for the ones you love. 

Grief leaves you with a heart that is ready to and open to give and receive Love.  

Merry Christmas.  This year I pray that you can accept my friend, companion and teacher, Grief. 

She only offers night classes, for joy comes in the morning.  

Lori Green

#lorigreenworship

The Waiting Room

 

The Waiting Room 

The wondering. 

The curiosity 

The questions. 

The busy stillness. 

The quietness. 

The thinking. 

Mind racing.  

The waiting. 

The waiting room is not a comfortable quiet space. It’s a place of anticipation.  It’s a place to sit still but the mind is anything but still.  It’s a place where you know you are appointed but time and other people are obstacles.  The constant interruptions of others being called from their place of waiting only brings more attention to the fact that you’re still there, uncalled, and still waiting.   

I’ve done my part.  I’ve showed up.  I’m in my position.   Why the wait?   

It becomes almost offensive.  If I have an appointment time, why can’t I just go in at that time. My time is important! 

My whole day is now delayed because of this wait. I looked around searching for meaning.  Others, perhaps, annoyed as well but I’m isolated and don’t care to connect to their frustration because I have my own.  There are no true companions in the waiting room.  Waiting rooms are faced alone. And these days, the mask only add to the intensity of the wait.  

I tried to keep mental tabs on who was there before me and imagine when the door swings open next, it would be my name called. Someone who came in after me was called before me.  I wondered why.  Was their appointment earlier but yet they showed up later?  Is that fair?   Then, I began to plot and plan how I would run the scheduling and appointments if I was in charge.  I sat debating whether or not I should ask how much longer but fearing it may cause a scene in the silent solemn waiting room. 

Then I saw her.  Off in a corner she sat.  She had a soft countenance and didn’t seem too concerned about the long wait times. She had a long needle and a bag of yarn and her hands were busy winding stitch after stitch.  

Something beautiful was being created.  Although, I’m not certain, I believe it was a blanket.  The colors slowly shifted into different shades and the designs and patterns were captivating. Some stitches looked like rainbows, others were more like seashells. 

Her relaxed demeanor was convicting.  As I sat restless and anxious, she appeared comfortable and calm.  It’s almost as if she was enjoying herself.  Surely not! How could anyone enjoy the wasted time of this waiting room. 

My mind wandered:

If I could just get through this, I could get through that and then get back to my normal life.  

Almost instantly as she tucked her needle in her bag, they call her back. “Mrs. Anah.” The nurse at the door sounded happy to see her.  I could even see a smile in her eyes and the outline of a grin from behind her mask. Anah quickly gathered her canvas bag of yarn and her purse and headed to the door.  She gently patted the nurse on the arm and said, “How are you”.  The nurse giggled, “I’m good, how are YOU?”

One of the receptionists that checked me in lifted from her seat and stretched above the plexy-glass barricade, “Bye Mrs Anah, see you tomorrow”. 

Ahhh, she was a regular customer.  They all knew her by name.  She must have to come here a lot.  Then, the silence of the waiting room was interrupted by an abrupt celebration behind the walls.   There was a bell ringing. We all looked around curiously.  The receptionist bolted out of her seat and disappeared into the hallway behind her.  She came back smiling and rejoicing.  She happily told her co-worker, Mrs. Anah is cancer free!! 

A few minutes later Anah came back through the doors.  The bag of yarn was empty and in her hands was a beautiful blanket.  She presented it to them, the ladies ooohed and ahhhed over it.   It was absolutely beautiful handiwork. I couldn’t see all of the details but it looked like there was an inscription.  They thanked her for it and after several quick hugs and high-fives and hand shakes, she was gone.  

The lively chatter slowly died back down and things went back to business as usual.  It wasn’t long and my name was called.  The As I was leaving, they were hanging the beautiful blanket on a blank wall in the waiting room.  

As it was stretched out, I could read the words on the middle of the blanket, “Hope is Found Here.”  

Hope.  Hope.  Hope.  

Hope!  That was it.  The waiting room is a place of HOPE!!  Hope of healing, hope of treatment, hope of Life, hope of help, hope of a future!   

So, Whatever WAITING ROOM you find yourself in, whether it is for a companion, a ministry, a physical healing, etc, learn to build on HOPE.   Put your hands to work building hope for someone else.   Don’t fight the waiting room.  Don’t huff and puff.   Don’t pace and waste your time.   Get a bag of yarn and start being the emblem of Hope for yourself and for those around you and for those who will come after you.  

The name Anah means a master of patience and perseverence.  

Hope has come.  Hope is here.  Connect to Hope in your waiting room! 

Eye Want More

Judges 14:1 NLT

One of the philistine women caught his eye. 

He told his parents, “She caught my eye, I want to marry her.”

Judges 16:21

The philistines captured Samson and gouged our his eyes. 

When his eyes were gouged, Samson was limited in his distractions.  He was even willing to die to bring more victory to Israel. 

His eyes were the source of temptation and distraction. If he had figuratively gouged his own eyes, could he have been more effective? Job said, “I made a covenant with my eyes not to look on a young woman with lust.”

All that is in the world is the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and the pride of life.  We must be diligent in acknowledging our weaknesses and asking God for sufficient grace to help us.  He will give us strength!  

The View of a Glass Cleaner

The View of a Glass Cleaner

I drove to my favorite spot in Arizona. The Grand Canyon Sky Walk.
I waited in a long line, as usual, for my turn to access the glass skywalk that perches 4000 feet above the Grand Canyon.
The glass walkway had been a place of joy for me. The View was astounding. As the sun moved, the shadows would turn and would give a completely different version of the View every hour. I loved painting and sketching the different shades and documenting the different angles. I could stay there for hours, taking it all in.  

I had applied for jobs many times at the Grand Canyon Skywalk building so that I could be close to the View. The land was owned by the Hualapai Indian Tribe. The would not hire me because I was not an Indian.

Finally, I decided I would volunteer. I would do anything I could to serve there. The majesty of the View was worth my service. Every week, I contacted the group to see if there was anything I could do. My persistence paid off. I was contacted by the manager and they gave me a summer job. I would be working on the skywalk all by myself after closing at 4:30pm. I was going to be a Glass Cleaner. There could be no greater job for me. I could work until sunset and I had the View all to myself with no distractions.

I remember how much joy I felt that summer. At the end of the summer, I was approached by the manager. He acknowledged my love for the VIew and offered me a paid position. I would be the official Glass Cleaner during the day when patrons were present. I was ecstatic. There could be no better job, no better place. No better View. At the end of the meeting, he told me, “Pursue to view the View and not the view you view through." I had no idea what that meant but thanked him for the privilege to serve.

I stood on the skywalk as almost a greeter, welcoming patrons. I would point out the beautiful characteristics I had memorized and any hidden attributes I had found when studying the View. I was so happy and everyone was so happy there. I quickly cleaned up any spills or smears that may obstruct the View. 

As time went by, I was called by the manager during my lunch break. Someone complained about some boot footprints on the glass that were obstructing the beautiful View. He ended the call with the same phrase, “Pursue to view the View and not the view you view through." I raced out and washed the marks quickly and made the glass as good as new. I was so happy to see it sparkle again.  What a beautiful View.

That was the first of many calls.
A group of children came through and there were handprints on every square inch of the glass walkway.
Teenagers left lipstick marks. There were oily smears from people pressing their faces against the glass. 
It rained one day, and the smudges were endless. Then came the spring pollen. 

I began standing near the entrance of the bridge with my rag and spray. I began inspecting the shoes of the viewers. I let them know that keeping the glass clean was a very hard job. They needed to see me with cleaning supplies and maybe they would be more thoughtful of me.  

One day a baby dropped his bottle. I quickly picked it up and scolded the mother, pointing out the milk drops on the glass.
An elder man had a cane that had mud on it and left a trail from start to finish. I followed him cleaning up every dot of mud as he made it. A therapy dog made its mark on the skywalk. A group of soldiers came to visit wearing combat boots that left footprints and smudges everywhere. I had to get extra cleaning supplies and temporarily close the skywalk so I could clean up after them.

How could people be so inconsiderate?

Everywhere I looked I could only see smudges, drops and smears. 
I began pointing out every flaw to the patrons.
The harder I cleaned the worse the job got. It was never-ending. I even noticed how careless I had become with my own footprints. I was useless as a Glass Cleaner and could never have perfectly clean glass.

Something changed in me. I hated the people. I hated the glass. I even secretly began to hate the View that brought so many awful inconsiderate people into my life.

The manager called me into his office.
He asked a simple question.
"When you stand on that skywalk, what do you see?"

"SMUDGES, MUD, SMEARS and MESS. Never-ending Work," I quickly said.

"You have forgotten to pursue the VIEW," he said gently. “You now only view the view you VIEW THROUGH.”

“What does that mean? Speak English!” I said sharply.

The glass is not what we VIEW but is what we view THROUGH. People will always make that glass dirty. It’s part of having living creatures on our skywalk. If no one ever came to see the View, the glass would never be dirty.
Our job is not to accentuate or focus on the imperfections of those people, but to focus on the VIEW and help others do the same. Some people will never appreciate the View, but others will fall in love and will become a Glass Cleaner like you. 
I asked you to be a Glass Cleaner because of your love for the View, not your love for the Glass.  When you love the View, cleaning the glass is a privilege.

Don’t get distracted or sidetracked by people and their mistakes, their inconsistency, their shortcomings.
Take time falling in love with the View.
When they see your love for Him, and each other, they will know that you are HIS.

We must focus our eyes on Him.
His mercies are new every day. He is worth our praise and adoration. 
He is worthy of our complete worship and surrender.

“Pursue to view the View and not the view you view through."

"Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face.
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace."

The Day I Almost Dumped Him

We were engaged to be married and it had been roses and chocolates and love letters until this point. I had known him since I was a young girl.  We talked often. Well, I mostly talked and he listened.  The time with him was always good and so refreshing.  I felt like I wanted to be with him forever. I felt like there would never be a bad day with him. Ever!  Until that one day when he sat me down for the TALK. 

It started like most of our other talks with my naive giddy emotion. I was so happy to be spending time alone. Just the two of us!  I had a lot of meaningless chatter and silly questions. He waited patiently on me to finish.  

Then, I saw his expression change.  It was his turn to talk.  He told me there was a side of him that I didn't know and he was worried that if I ever found out about it that I would leave him.   I laughed it off! 

"Why so serious?   We've had so much fun together?  What could possibly ever make me leave you?   I would be crazy!  Look how well we get along!  Look at how good we communicate." 

I had many rebuttals. 

But, as he talked I started to see there was more. I couldn't ignore this.  It was a big deal. This was getting deep. I started to get uncomfortable.  This couldn't be.  It just couldn't.  

Even though we had known each other for quite some time, we really never talked much about his past.  I never asked or acted interested or concerned.  I'm sure if I would have asked he would have told me anything I wanted to know.  

I mainly talked to him about our future together.  He was a building contractor at the time and had already had the designs for our house after marriage.  Did he want children? (Thankfully, yes).   We talked about boundaries and relationships with others.  

I knew a little about his family. I knew he had a great mom and step dad.  I knew he had brothers and sisters.  I knew some of his friends that would be in the wedding party.  But I didn't realize what those same friends had put him through.  I had heard one of his friends committed suicide but I didn't know the whole story.  I didn't know about the jail time and court cases.  

As he talked to me more, I cried.  He said if I was going to be with him forever I would have to know him deeper.  He asked me if I would stay with him if he let me go through some of things he went through.  Knowing he could shield me and protect me from the pain, the emotions the affliction, the distress.  

I didn't know if I could stay.  How could he expect me to love him if he would just let bad things happen to me without stopping them?   He was strong!  He was so powerful. He could stop anything that could come against me.   This wasn't love.  This wasn't happy, fun, exciting flirty love.   I told him I would have to think about it. Really, I just wanted to run and never look back.

After a few days of thinking it over, I decided I would stay. I would choose to be with him over any pain or suffering I had to endure.  My whole goal was to marry him and live with him forever.  I wanted to be just like him.  If that is what it took, going through what he went through, then I was ready.  

Until this point, I had only known him in the Power of his resurrection and never known him in the Fellowship of his suffering.  (Philippians 3:10)

For now, I'm keeping my dress clean, protected and white and making sure I have plenty oil to spare.  I love flowers, chocolate and love letters.  And as for the suffering, I still don't much like it but I am realizing it makes me closer to Him and more like Him.  I just run to him and tell him about it and let him hold me through it.  Even though he doesn't always stop it, he sure does always help me through it. 

P.S. I can't wait to see our new home! 

Kintsugi: A Broken Chosen Vessel

A while ago, I was asked to speak at a Ladies tea.  All of the ladies were receiving their own unique teacup and saucer to take home.  The coordinator's vision was that the ladies would know that they are Beautifully made, vessels made by HIM, serving unique purposes but all important.  

I immediately began to research and study about china.  I found the process of how Lenox China is made.  (in the USA).  It was so intriguing to me.  

There are 4 elements used: Earth (Clay), Wind (Blowing the molds), Water (the Washing), Fire (the kilns.)

Then the process goes something like this:

Casting process:

Fill It, Let it sit, Remove the excess, Release the mold, Smooth the mold.

Now ready to be fired in the kiln. (About 20% of the china breaks or cracks during this phase)

Then it gets a Bath.

Then it gets polish with smooth stone and water to remove any rough exterior.

Then a dishwasher & dryer.

Then inspection.

Then preheated for Glazing.

Now back in the fire for the Glossing.

Now it can be decorated. (Decals or precious metals, gold platinum or both)

Final Inspection:  (If it doesn't pass it gets..)

Destroyed

Marked as Second and sold in an outlet

Fixed and sent through inspection

Typically we lock up our China in a display cabinet and take out for special uses, but China is actually quite tough after all the processes.  I loved this picture of 4 teacups holding a car.

Another discovery I made was that bone china is not a brand.  It really contains bones!  Usually cow bones, but if you have Spode china, it may contain human bones.  Cremated relative?  Turn them into a teacup (gasp)!

I also came across a process called "Kintsugi," the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum.  As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of the object, rather than something to disguise.  

The phrase "Wabi Sabi" centers around accepting IMPERFECTION.

As women especially, we focus on our imperfections and assume they are handicaps.  However, God can use you IN your imperfections, and HE is sure to get the glory!

For we preach NOT ourselves!  When you're broken, it's hard to hold things for yourself.  Things naturally and constantly are being poured from you!

I wrote this poem to describe my feelings about the process that the MASTER sometimes puts us through.  That HE in all things may be glorified!

KINTSUGI: a Broken Chosen Vessel by Lori Green

I was shapened in the Master's mold,

Made from the finest ingredients.

The beauty of His design was shown,

I was created in His image.

But I lacked the strength to hold any weight,

So from the mold I was taken,

To be fired with the hottest heat, 

And withstand it without breaking,

Just when I thought I couldn't take it,

The fire suddenly lost its glow.

Some of those around me sat broken,

But I just tried to just hold on.

Taken from fire I sat still and numb ,

Maybe now I was changed.

And I could be used by someone,

But instead I was taken to another phase.

The running water had a thunderous sound,

As it washed  me through and through.

I felt so clean all around.

I felt happy I felt new.

Then I was taken to a special place,

The temperature was just right.

I was given a glossy, glamorous glaze.

I glistened in the light.

Surely now I could be used!

I've been fired, glossed and cleansed.

But my deepest fears became true,

When I saw the fire heat up again.

I began to feel the heat,

As I slowly drew near.

This would be the death of me,

It would destroy me I feared.

It hurt. It burned. Pain seeped so deep.

I've never felt such suffering.

"Why me? Why now?" I said aloud.

"Do you care? Do You even hear me?"

I was too weary to even hear it,

When the fire was finally over.

I just hoped the end was nearing,

And that I wasn't totally broken.

I knew if i could just make it through,

I would finally be chosen.

Then I would be able to be used,

In the hands of a real person.

Then I passed inspection,

What a happy day for me!

Off to the artist for decoration,

And then finally I'd be free.

I caught a glimpse as we passed a glass,

How beautiful I had become!

I was truly a touch of class,

A work of art well done.

I was ready to be shipped for use,

When suddenly the box opened.

Then I was gently removed,

As the master said, "This One is Chosen."

It must have been my great design,

Or perhaps my form and shape,

Or maybe the gloss and glaze that shined,

Or maybe the artist's paint

Everything that I had been through,

It would now be worth it all.

The Master was taking me to,

His great works display hall.

I traveled in all of my splendor,

To a place quite dull and quaint.

Perhaps it was a little detour,

Before the Master put me on display.

Then He carefully released me,

Someone approached me with a large hammer.

Then the master let them break me,

And I was crushed forever.

"I don't understand this at all,

Why have I been through so much?

I should be in the display hall,

How could you ever allow such?"

"I thought you loved me and you had a plan!

Is this what you planned all along?

Just to build me up to tear me down,

To leave me all alone?"

But silently the master kept working on me,

I was under so much stress.

He glued me back piece by piece,

But now I looked a mess.

Why would people want to see me on display,

When I've been so cracked and broken?

Then I heard the Master say,

"Remember you were Chosen".

I wanted to be a chosen piece,

And I saw he was up to something.

So I began to let Him rearrange me.

And I started learning just to trust Him.

Then one day He was finally through.

Although I had been shattered,

I was put on display to view,

For the Only One that mattered.

I was just another broken vessel story,

I didn't think many people would care.

But it turns out that the Master received great glory,

For the work of art he shared.

So here I stand before you.

I'm nothing of my own.

But I can do all things through,

The one to whom I belong!

Lori Green