So, Boot Camp...

Boot camp was awesome. The setting was breathtaking. The facilities were rustically first class. The sessions were full of heart healing material. And getting to be there with Kevin was sweet. We enjoyed life together as we always do together. It was good to go even deeper in sharing our stories.

I had thought everything was healed in me. I thought I was at Boot Camp just to learn and glean, and take something back for the other men that I have the honor of caring for. God had other ideas...

Friday I met a man in who always sat in our row whose name is Les. He asked me a lot of questions. He asked about my kids. Saturday morning he came in to session and said that I had been on his heart. He said that reason for my kids' names was moving, and the little I shared about my dad was moving, that my story was similar to his. He wanted to get together and hear my entire story. We agreed to meet after lunch.

When we got together he said, "Ed. I want to be up front with you. I am on the Intercessor team. Normally we aren't supposed to approach people. People are supposed to approach us. But, God has really laid you on my heart." That was cool. I had no problem with that. I proceeded to tell him my story.

At the end, he honestly said, "Ed. I think you need to repent. I don't think you like that little boy that you were." I told him that he was probably right.

I left our time together and walked up the mountain. During my walk I asked God to reveal to me what may have happened, who may have wounded me to the point where I didn't like that little boy. All I could think of was my Grandma. She was a mean woman who seemed like she didn't know how to love. I knew that my Grandma didn't know any better. That didn't seem to be the cause.

I found a spot just up passed the horse coral. I laid in the sun and just kept praying for God to reveal scenes from my childhood as to what may have happened to cause me not to love that little boy. He brought to mind a picture of me when I was 2, dressed up as a clown for halloween. I smiled at the memory of that picture, and thought, "What a cute kid!"

I continued to ask God to reveal. He did. He brought to mind a time when I was 4. A scene from my life I remember well, but never gave much value to for its power in my overall story. I was with my dad and one of his buddies at the mall Christmas shopping. My dad said, "You better behave yourself or I am taking you to your Grandma's." I made sure I was on my best behavior. He said it again. I wondered what I was doing wrong. I thought I was being good. I kept trying as hard as I could. My dad said, "Okay. I am calling Grandma." He called her from a pay phone and then took me over there. I remember him pulling away. My Grandma said, "Really, he just wants to go Christmas shopping for you." That never sunk in. Maybe he did, or maybe he just wanted to go to the bar with his buddy. The memory that stuck with me is, "I can't do anything good enough for my dad to want to hang out with me." That thought attached itself to me and I carried it with me. Always.

God met me and healed me. Jesus assured me that I was good enough. He died for me. Satan did his best to tell me, "You're nothing special, Jesus died for everyone." True. He did. But, Jesus reminded me that I was an heir of The Father. It was a time of healing. Good Good.



So. Last week. God whispers, "Where is your voice?" Huh? It is like when He said to Adam in the Garden, "Where are you?" God knew where Adam was, and He knows where my voice is. But, He wanted me to find where my voice is. I knew what He was getting at. He wants deeper conversations with me. And, not just partial thought blips to him. Complete conversation, and out loud. He wants to hear my voice cry out to him. But, part of this journey of His question was to understand why I had no voice. After several days, He reminded me of what time was like with my dad. As a little boy, I would go for rides with my dad. After 20 minutes, the rest of our time was silent. Even as I got older, after my parents' divorce, I would ride with him up to his cottage at Houghton Lake. All of our conversation took place in the first hour of the two hour drive up there. And, that was pretty much all of the conversation that would take place for the weekend. God was telling me, unlike my dad, He wants to hear me. He desires me to cry out the deep things of my heart. It has been good to do.

But, this voice has not just been for my freedom. It has been for Jean's as well. This week I was able to unsheath my sword and pray on her behalf with my hand on her heart with passion for Satan and the spirit of inadequacy to leave Jean, and for Jesus to fill her with His love and to affirm in her that Jesus has made her beautifully.