Why do the iniquities of the father’s need to be confessed? Sherri Rogers, 5.30.15
THINGS ARE NOT AS THEY SEEM by Sherri RogersApril 13, 2011 - early before completely awake - 2 visions
1 - mountain scene. I am standing before a lake and looking across it to the trees and mountains across it. I see a reflection of someone on the other side in the clear still lake, but no one was there.
2 - in kitchen by sink. I hear meowing which seems to be coming from the dining room. I go and check and see nothing. When I turn around I see our 2 little dogs meowing away. I hear, “Things are not as they seem.”
Dream - Two rectangular boxes -5ftx3ftxft- jockying for position with an orb of light up to the right. Heard: sibling rivalry
Night dream - two teen agers vying for the dad’s attention. Look at me daddy! See what I am doing! Look at me!!. Both were saying this. I heard: Judah and Ephraim
Both trying to get Abba’s attention for what they are DOING, not whose they are. And He is not happy.
This came after the dreams:
The false covering doctrine of the church has conditioned men and women to give up their God-given authority. Along the way, we got "classed", pitted against each other. Clergy and "full-time" ministers vs. "lay" persons, men vs. women, the educated vs. the uneducated, etc. (Please check out the blog entries under head and/or headship.) This makes the transfer of this position at hospitals when babies are born or procedures need done, that much easier. You are required to sign a “consent form” that literally transfers your God-given authority to the doctor. No one really looks at this because it is just accepted as normal, but it is NOT normal as far as YHVH is concerned.
Yeshua came to reestablish or restore what had been stolen at the fall. He hung on the tree and became the curse for us so we no longer have to stay in that fallen state. We do have to deal with the flesh, but the power of Yah that dwells in us through His Spirit is sufficient to overcome it. It is all about whether we choose to do it His way or our way. His way sets us up to be blessed beyond measure, whereas our way is just one disappointment after another.
We have rewritten Scripture to fit our way. We don’t get blessed so we have to find a scriptural excuse - its demonic attack, God can do what He wants, it means something different now, etc. We don’t get healed so we take Scripture out of context to justify sickness. Why do we do this? I am not real sure. I think because we have believed the lie we have been fed instead of checking out YHVH’s Word for ourselves. Or because if we went with Truth, we would have to be accountable and change and do things that would not be approved by man - either in the world or in the church. Fear of man is a big part of it.
In the world, we want to be perceived as successful and that includes doing things the world’s way. Honesty and integrity in business is virtually nonexistent. Compromise is the watchword. The church, has established itself as an organizational structure, a corporation or business instead of an organism, a living breathing entity sustained by the very Breath of YHVH. It is following the world’s guidelines of less than honorable ethics. And this is justified and excused instead of treated as sin.
Everyone doing what is right in their eyes and condemning others who are not where they are. Pretending to be or creating an image of what you think it should be does not make it so. To whom much has been given, much shall be required. The privileged have a responsibility to be more than privileged. Things are not as they seem. Privilege for privilege's sake is anti YHVH. With privilege comes responsibility and with responsibility comes honor. Faith without works is dead. Love YHVH your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength, then love your neighbor as yourself.
Think of all the hate there is in Red China
Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama
You may leave here for four days in space
But when you return it's the same old place
The pounding of the drums, the pride and disgrace
You can bury your dead but don't leave a trace
Hate your next door neighbor but don't forget to say grace -
from: Eve of Destruction, by Barry McGuire, 1965 - lyrics by P.F. Sloan
An excerpt from the book Blue Like Jazz, nonreligious thoughts on Christian spirituality, by Donald Miller, Thomas Nelson publishers; ISBN-13 978-0-7852-6370-8
I had been working on a play called Polaroids that year. It was the story of a man’s life from birth to death, each scene delivered through a monologue with other actors silently acting out parts behind the narrator as he walks the audience through his life journey. In the scene I had written a few nights before, I had the man fighting with his wife. They were experiencing unbearable tension after losing a son in a car accident the year before. In my heart, I knew they were not going to make it, that Polaroids would include a painful divorce that showed the ugliness of separation. But I changed my mind. After talking with Paul I couldn’t do it. I wondered what it would look like to have the couple stick it out. I got up and turned on my computer. I had the lead character in my play walk to the bedroom where his wife was sleeping. I had him kneel down by her bed and whisper some lines:
What great gravity is this that drew my soul towards yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?
I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.
I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew an image, I bled a poem of you. You were pretty, and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only the tool I used to fix myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lilly hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.
I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, My love, I am scared of me.
I wanted to be known and loved anyway. Can you do that? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely like me. My love, do I know you? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever in fleshing this out? And how will we with words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God’s way of meriting grace, of teaching us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us in degrees, that which He is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?
We were fools to believe that we could redeem each other.
Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God alone has done, to walk you into the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who are making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.
Will we be in ashes before we are one?
What great gravity is this that drew my heart towards yours?
What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don’t we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!
I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.
I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God’s own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may being me.
I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, trading for love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this alter of dying and dying again.
God risked himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him unto us.