Last week was an incredibly tough week. I saw the edge.
I get hammered painfully hard before and after Feast time. Perhaps it’s timing. But more likely it’s because those who obey the commandments of YHVH are the target of the same evil force that hates the One who established the mo’edim.
Every year the punches come and I get struck to the dirt, the blood flows and I struggle to breath. My husband scoops me off the floor, hot with anger at the evil seeking to destroy his wife.
I’ve heard it said that I’m distracted. I sense that my Christian friends are becoming impatient with my journey and tired of getting my invitations to the Feasts. They say, “those were done away with!” They think Isaac and I like being mavericks. That we want to travel the path alone. They think we are divisive. Conform they say. They are tired of the call to repent. Actually, they say they already have and that it is me that needs to repent and come back to the fold. If I would only hold my tongue, get back in line and come back to the community of support I once had.
I used to have prestige, position, power and respect. Now there is only blood. I feel evaporated, like water that is poured out on hot pavement. Encouragement and support hit an all time low last week. But despite all logic, I can’t stop. I’m moved. Compelled. There’s a fire in my heart that will destroy me if I don’t keep moving. Staying conscious through the madness and chaos is the trick.
Most of the time I know who I am, because I know who my Father is. I am a light and a light is needed when there is darkness, and last I checked darkness was all around me. If everyone around me was lit up I wouldn’t need to shine extra bright and there would be comfort for me.
But comfort is not my middle name. And in the during the battle it is imperative to remember who Papa is. Where I am to focus. Who is my center. Isaac helps me seek balance. We pray coverage. But when you get in the ring to do battle, pain and opposition just happen––no matter what. I chide myself that I am forgetful. But I’m not even sure remembering would help when you are being hammered in slow motion and every time you try to get up off the floor to wipe the blood away from your eyes a heavy hand comes out of the blue to knock you back down.
It is truly an epic heroic tale our lives are writing. But at some point epic gets old and you don’t want to get up anymore. At some point you just want the game to be over. The past few years, I’ve been living there. It’s been one unbelievable, unfair and undeserved pounding after another. Being in the ring and battling for my life has been my reality for way too long.
So last week, as usual, I nearly got taken out. My “the glass is half-full” brain thinks I will just glide into Feast time with lots of sunshine, lots of joy, lots of money, lots of support, lots of feast attendees––all the stuff that brings feelings of success and gives energy for creativity to flow and community to grow. I think people will drop everything to join in. But that’s not where the story is at yet. The battle for this small Mountain Hebrew Hippie Feast Diva is to be creative and throw a feast for the King and his Bride-to-Be in the middle of a bloody War. This is my assignment. This is my task. The one reason I love the story of Queen Esther so much and the celebration of Purim is that in the middle of the battle for her life and her people, she throws a banquet.
I am so head-over-heals in love with and captivated by Yahweh Elohim that I tend to forget every Feast season that keeping and doing his mo’edim is no picnic. Keeping them is a serious blow to the evil kingdom, because keeping the Feast rhythm is where repentance is most shown. What holidays you keep clearly defines who owns and controls you. Living out this calendar is where the rubber of repentance meets the road.
Every Feast I prepare for Yahweh is a costly sacrifice that I lay on the alter of my heart–to be consumed with fire, wind or water. When did I forget that a sacrifice is painful? Oh, yes. Just a moment ago. Those brave souls that take living-in and doing Yah’s ways seriously are going to be seriously opposed. That’s just reality. The rebellious Christian pursuit of contentment, comfort and the assimilation of the tinsel-trash holidays of the heathens will go with them to the grave. The self-righteous striving, knowledge-seeking, stiff-necked hard-hearts and colorless Feasts of my Israelite friends will be rejected by Yahweh. No story will be written. No legacy left. I have chosen another path. A royal one. Royal as in, Yahshua’s royal example: servant, beat-up, obedience at all costs, connection found in the wild places and one battle after another–all while waiting for final vindication.
On the floor of the ring this past week, not knowing if I was going to get back up, the Ruach gave Isaac a song for me. Both the Ruach and Isaac know that with the right song, pain becomes my fuel. Last Thursday night I sat in a corner of our log cabin and listened to this song and watched the video. It was like life went into my oxygen-deprived lungs and I began to rise off the floor. Like an epic movie, I began to slowly stand up, with fierce eyes I began to look with new determination at my situation.
I’m attached to a parachute that I am dragging through a parched desert. A parachute by nature is supposed to make you fly. But instead, at this point in the story it hangs me out on the ledge. It threatens to drown me. It deceives me. But the parachute that I now tow will someday carry me into the air. Not by my power, but with the wind sent by the Father. What is my pain now will one day cause me to rise.
Yes, I will rise again because he did. Victory may not inherently be in my veins, but there is victory in Yahshua’s veins. And I drink of him. I eat of him. His blood flows through me, because that is his Father’s will and my choice. My eyes long to see my brother fully thrive on a future Yom Teruah when he will return as King and finish this battle. And his eyes long to see me fly. At the moment he thrives so will I. For now, though evil tries to shake my core, my roots run deep. The goal is to keep my heart alive so that when the wind comes my parachute will be whole, take wind and make me fly.
This video and song is the mythical reality of every Israelite who holds a fire for Yahweh and his Kingdom and attempts to fly. It is now when legends are made.
This is how I hear the second verse of Katy Perry’s song (her YouTube video below):
So, I call on my Brother.
He says, “Oh ye of so little faith!
Don’t doubt me! Don’t doubt me!
Victory is in MY veins!
You know it! You know it!
Do not negotiate, Rebekah!
Just fight it! Just fight it!
And be transformed!
When the fire’s at your feet again
And the vultures all start circling
They’re whisperin’, “you are out of time!” but still I rose.
This is no mistake
When you think the final number is in
Don’t be surprised.
You will still rise.
Don’t be surprised. I rose.