on the path of healing

unwoven
©6-26-2025 hannah mclean

my body housed
its broken heart

burdened by the weight of loss
it could not bear up
cracking beneath it

and when hands could only hold
one thing together
it chose the soul
while the body fell aside
in a heap of rubble

i’ve walked hand in hand
with my broken heart
i’ve watched as Holy Hands
gathered every piece
that fell along the road of suffering
and mended me back together
and it is well
with my soul

but i have never walked hand in hand
with my broken body

no
 

my fists have pounded upon its bruises
my feet have kicked its aching back
my mouth has torn it apart
as it lay in the dust
shame and blame and disdain
covering it in heaps and mounds
undignified and stripped of worth
while all it ever longed for
was compassion

years have passed
i’ve looked at it again and again
from a safe distance
i’ve learned to draw near even though it hurts
i’ve renounced my curses and
chosen to bless
i’ve shoveled off years of shame
and unburdened it of decades of blame
and fought disdain
and fought disdain again
i’ve told it the truth
fearfully and wonderfully made
by design not function
i’ve even mustered compassion
from time to time

but i remain
a weaving too long upended
the strands still too mixed up within the debris
of too many storms
over too many years
to find their way back together

because my body housed
its broken heart

and only one has been made well

Missing you on the eve of Spring

For the Return of my Friend
©4/26/24 Hannah McLean

My face turns toward the Spring breeze
lungs breathe deep
and I am filled.
The sights and sounds and smells that surround me
pour out their promises in the way only nature may.
And in this air, I cannot help but hope.

Time is ever changing things,
this I know,
the tiny nose that once wrinkled up a baby face
now sets among features matured into a different beauty.

Soft found hard.
The trials of life have a way of shaping things,
like the persistent rushing river through the grand canyon
forging in its passing a thing of extravagant wonder.

And yet,
many water cannot change all things
for my love persists;
unable to be washed away by current
unwilling to be pulled away by wind and gale
ever beating as the heartbeat at the core of life itself.

Hope rides upon the fresh air
as things once dead beneath the cold of winter
emerge in victorious shades of living color.
If ever it was time, why not now?

I open up my doors
I throw wide my windows
and cast my voice and heart into the earthen air.
My longing for you to come stretches across the space
between us;
may it find its way to you
nudging your heart to turn my way
spreading out a bridge worth walking.

I will be here,
this you must know,
listening for the sound of your footsteps
across the freshly plowed earth.

From Zar to Citizen of Heaven

The Lord woke me up with a dream this week. In this dream I was registering patients at a hospital when a friend I knew from high school walked in with a woman who was having terrible chest pain. I picked up her registration form and my friend looked relieved because she knew I could help. I brought the woman back to my desk; she was uncomfortable and a bit nervous, but overall bright in her attitude and demeanor, confident that she had come to the right place for the help she needed. As I sat her down, I opened up the registration program for the first time (I had worked registration during college, so they didn’t bother training me in, just assumed I could pick it back up). As I got things going, I looked at my paper and noticed on the name line, she had simply written the word “Zar.” During our discussion, she told me that was the name she was called, and because she wasn’t ever called by her given name, she struggled to remember what her legal name was. After some digging, I managed to draw her first and last name out of her, and chose to register her as her legal name with Zar as the middle name.

I first tried to find a medical record that had been previously opened to build from, but she was nervous to give her social security number out loud with people around, so I let her type it in. Finding no record on file, I started a new one and was met with utter random confusion. As I tried to find the places to enter the information, I had to navigate through videos, games, flashing screens—every sort of entertainment was crammed into the program. I frantically tried to find the input areas to give the information needed to create a chart for the dying woman sitting in front of me, but my efforts were slowed and frustrated by the avalanche of unnecessary and distracting visuals.

When I finally made it to the end of the chart, utterly frustrated and overwhelmed, I hit print only to discover that autocorrect had changed the spelling of the legal name. I went out to check on the patient in the lobby, where she was waiting anxiously to be seen, and I desperately tried to figure out how to get her chart to the nurse so they knew she was ready even though I knew everything would have to be restickered because of the error in the legal name (although “Zar,” which I put in the middle name input slot had printed clearly). With my laptop beside her in the lobby, I desperately tried to find the screen with the name input to change it, realized in the fray I had never even found the insurance page and tried to get that information and seek out where input it…pages and pages of animated chaos hiding everything from me. My friend kept looking at me in confusion of why I wasn’t helping. All the while, Zar sat in front of me crying from her pain, dying in the waiting room of the hospital that was suppose to help her simply because they had chosen a registration program—the program that admits you to enter in for help—that was overrun by entertainment.

And in my desperate groveling for what to do, how to get her seen, how to navigate the impossible admission program, I woke up.

And when I woke up and thought about this dream, I cried out to God. Our culture is one of entertainment: It demands instant gratification and won’t venture forward without it; it laments boredom and simplicity (the very things that allow for the cultivating of curious and creative minds); it despises reality, wisdom and practicality (the things that allow for us to build lives well lived); it sucks away our time on meaningless things (social media, gaming, movies and shows); it takes our concentration and focus and availability to do the work God created us for. I did inventory of my own distractions, repenting for myself and the American Church.

I also looked up the woman’s name: Zar. The Hebrew word "Zar" means “alien, foreign, outside.”

This is the meaning of the dream and the exhortation to the body of Christ:
The hospital here is the body of Christ. People are dying outside of Jesus; desperate for help and for the Gospel. But we at the doorway, the ones meant to bring the Gospel to the lost and dying world so that they may know redemption and salvation, are failing. We are overridden with entertainment: flashy facades, video games, movies, TV, sports, activities, our own comforts, social media, anything fun. But people are dying! The lost are waiting to be found, the sick are waiting for the healing touch of Jesus, the broken are waiting to know the One who can put them back together, the confused are waiting for the clarity of Truth, the bound are waiting for their deliverer…and we who are suppose to reach out with the hands and feet of Jesus and draw them in are failing them.

Our heart for the lost must be GREATER THAN our desire for the flesh to be entertained.

Here is the passage the Lord gave me for this dream, please pause and consider:

Ephesians 2:13,17–20 “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ…And He came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit."

A dream from Jehovah Shammah

Last night I had a dream. In this dream, I was standing in a church with a group of friends talking when suddenly one of them said, “Oh no! I forgot I was leading worship today, I need to go set up!” She then turned to me and said, “Come on, we have to go sing.” I was very confused because I didn’t know I was suppose to lead worship and I didn’t remember volunteering because I had recently discovered my voice was really weak, so I wasn’t well suited for it in this season. But I followed her into the sanctuary. We had about 10 minutes before the service started. The church was huge, and we walked up onto a big stage where a woman was playing a piano beside a bunch of microphones and music stands. I asked my friend, “Are you sure that we’re leading today? Someone is already playing.” She stopped to check the schedule and informed me that the woman was our accompanist. Then the next 10 minutes were filled with a bunch of scrambled chaos: The music had to be printed, but there were issues with how it printed and with a slow printer; we had to rearrange the setup, but the cords and stands were a tangled mess and hard to move, at one point I tried to reach for a microphone and it came disconnected from the cord and started hissing; as tech support came to help, people started filing into the room; there was a room divider that was partly lowered over the front of the stage that had to be raised; someone tried to help read something for us and couldn’t read; I didn’t know the songs I was suppose to be helping lead; the accompanist suddenly left because she was sick and the other singers were nowhere to be found…everything we tried to do to help order things or move them along failed, every step forward was met with multiple steps back, all of the pieces of the team and the technology were stripped away and by the time the service was to start it was me and my friend and our small acapella voices. The pastor said to us, “Don’t let this set you back.” And my friend said, “It’s time to lead worship.”

We looked at each other and the people in front of us waiting, and we opened our mouths and we began to worship the Lord. Our voices were small, but after a line or two, we found ourselves suddenly accompanied by the most beautiful heavenly music I had ever heard. It filled the room and wrapped itself around our meager voices giving them strength and drawing from us a deeply renewed and heartfelt sound. The room was soon filled with a resounding song of praise and worship as every voice joined with the heavenly music, each of us singing with all our might, “And He shall reign forevermore, forevermore!”

And then I woke up.

When I woke up the second time, I head this name spoken over me again and again: Jehovah Shammah. I looked up its meaning. Jehovah Shammah means “The Lord is there.”

I’ve been in a hard season. Before I had gone to sleep, I had been on my face before the Lord weeping, repenting, confronting my lack of faith. So emptied of faith am I in one specific area that I finally had to acknowledge to both myself and the Lord that I simply no longer believe a promise He had given me. My hands that had clung and the hope that had held were too weak, the efforts for a different story and a new measure had come up empty too many times, the years had worn me down with discouragement and resign…and though I believe the Lord is who He says He is, my confidence in His promise to me has been lost in the eroding avalanche of my weakness. And I grieved as I declared His worth and offered Him my worship void of expectation of help.

And He gave me this dream and this declaration. 

 

“The Lord is there,” He whispered over me as I slept. He is there when all is stripped away; when efforts fail and time is too short and chaos crushes out peace; when the inadequate measure I walked in is tested and found wanting in new ways as the situation changes before me; when human fortifications are faulty; when every set back has left me certain that there’s no way forward; when in that place, I worship still. He is there. Reigning still, able to provide the missing measure with beauty that draws from deeper wells. Reigning forever, worthy of worship and accepting even the most meager sound that dares fall from the most unseemly mouth.

And I don’t know if you resonate with any of this, but I thought maybe there was someone who needed to be reminded with me that not only is there a God, but He is Jehovah Shammah; very present and full of grace.

God of Jacob

 “The nations rage, the kingdoms totter;
He utters His voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of Hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.”
Psalm 46:6–7

a prayer as the nations rage and the kingdoms totter:

©10-17-2023 hannah mclean

o God of Jacob
willing to wrestle
with the wayward, wounded and weary

rest You mighty hand
upon my heart
and mark me
with the limp of Your choosing
that i may never walk without You

for in You
is love and life and light

"taste and see"

Ephesians 4:22–24 "...put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness."

loss of likeness

©8-15-2023 hannah mclean

 

“taste and see”
his hiss like honey
dripping from deceitful lips
“eat and be like God
knowing what He knows”

and eve
encased in the beauty of
her senses
saw
and desired
and so she tasted
and she saw

she saw that she had exchanged
likeness for knowing

eve had been created like God—
righteous and holy—
serpents ploys
and forbidden trees
could not more likeness make
in hindsight
she could see that
they could only take
for likeness was not in knowing
what God knew
but in the innocence of allowing
God to know
revealing and withholding
by His own wise measure

she tasted
and she saw
but all the knowledge of good and evil
could not bring back what was lost

until the cry of Yeshua
rose forth like a conquering roar
resounding through the despair
“taste and see
that the Lord is good
partake in My body
given for you
look full in My face turned
with love toward you”

The Beauty of Lament

In my BSF study this week, the very first question says, "What does it mean to Lament?" Every once in a while, I land on a question and realize that I have an entire theology surrounding a topic that I didn't realize existed. This one I couldn't get past it without writing:

To lament is to linger in the sorrow of
a moment that is not as it should be;
to sit down in the heap of rubble of
what had once been built
and weep.

Lament is a Holy gift for the human heart
to help us process and move through suffering;
a necessary stop on the journey of grief
that allows for us to persevere with wellbeing.

Lament is the tool that draws the human soul
into the depths of God;
it is the place where our deep calls out to His
and allows for the comfort not of changed circumstances
but of Holy presence.

Lament is the helping hand that reaches for us
when we find ourselves upon the ground of
sin-broken battlefields,
and stirs within us
a longing for the One who redeems.

Lament is the deeper ache that causes our hearts
to search for the One who makes all things new;
and though we often face sorrow as
skillful evaders of painful things,
lament is the bridge on which we walk
reaching for purpose to be gained
from the realities that wound the human heart.

And though it pushes against reason,
the willingness to lament keeps soft
the heart that suffering threatens to harden.

Give voice to your lament
and find the bended ear of the One who
draws near the ashes
ready to bring forth beauty where we find none.

Psalm 42 | Ecclesiastes 3:1–11a | Lamentations 3:31–33 | Job 1:20

hosannas and hallelujahs

Holy Week ponderings
©4-6-2023 hannah mclean

sometimes we miss the face of flint
for the palm leaves that block our eyes

we forget that the triumph of the final entry into jerusalem
came with suffering the Lord saw fit through which to save

sometimes we see the bread and wine before us
and overlook the traitor’s friendly hand

we forget that the cross that sends us into hiding
is followed by the tomb that calls us boldly forward

for where else has a conquering King declared victory
through dying breath and bloodstained wood
while the sun hid and the earth quaked?

this week let us grieve the shedding of blood
that brought about the forgiveness of sin

let us allow the passing eclipse of the crucifixion
to bring greater delight to the revelation of the stone rolled back

let us linger in the presence of the sorrow
and take part in the fullness of the joy

for our shouts to crucify
were covered in the “finished” cry

may our “hosannas” meet our “hallelujahs”
to the glory of the Father’s heart to save

how long?

 the fool who believed
©12-12-22 hannah mclean

i whimper beneath
this heap of broken things
the pieces of the crushed
the defeated
the battles lost
bury my body

strength long proven
too little
fight to climb out
too fleeting

how long?

why do i hear
the trumpet of victory
sound from
my enemy’s camp
when i lean on
the Greater Power?

the shame You promised
to bear away
has stacked itself
upon my shoulders

sin broke
and scorn remains

how long?

the enemy mocks
the seeming futility
of my faith
“where is your God?”

but i know who You are
i would rather be
the fool who believed
than the fool who scoffed

 

------

 

"Consider and answer me, O Lord my God; light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death, lest my enemy say, "I have prevailed over him," lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken." Psalm 13:3–4

The days of waiting

Holy Week ponderings:

It’s a day of waiting.
It seems to be intentionally placed;
between the horrors of Friday and the wonders of Sunday.
A day to grieve and to remember and to ponder.
It’s like the Lord sat His followers down lest they fight or flee;
Peter gave us a glimpse onto both of these paths
with the swinging sword
and the rooster’s crow.
A sabbath.
Rest up, He seemed to insist,
the real work is coming.

It’s a day of waiting.
My mind keeps wandering to Mary Magdalene.
I sit beside her with her wringing, wondering hands;
hands that had been redeemed for anointing and for honoring.
Mary wanted to be with her Lord;
in His life she had been by His side,
close enough to wipe His feet with her tears
and close enough to hear the whisper of His thirst.
In His death she resisted still the separation.
But the sabbath forced her feet to stay
when apart from Him is not where she longed
to linger.

It’s a day of waiting.
They had a promise, you know.
He told them what would be:
Death by crucifixion
and three days later
risen to new life.
Peter wouldn’t accepted it;
he rebuked the truth
and waged war on hands that bound and led away his Lord
to fulfill His purpose.
But sometimes it’s the times of waiting after the horrors of Friday
that dig out of us the faith
to hope in the promise of Sunday.

These intentionally placed days of waiting…
may we not waste them.

A paraphrase of Psalm 143

Sometimes I find a Psalm that mirrors my heart’s cry, and in it I find the healing balm of companionship in my suffering. Here is my paraphrase of Psalm 143:

"Lord, hear my prayer! I’m crying out for mercy; pleading with You not to bring the judgment I deserve, but instead to bring Your faithful, righteous nature to tend to me because my life is all out of sorts.

I want to serve You freely, but the enemy won’t let up. He pursues the entirety of me; he crushes my whole life into the ground. My body fails, I cannot endure the pressing: I am dejected—thrown down. His foot won’t lift from my back; his figure and shadow block the light, and darkness overwhelms me. My spirit faints, Lord. My heart is appalled by self and circumstance.

As I sit here in the darkness with the oppressor’s strength upon me, I turn my mind to consider You; I lean upon the testimonies of what You have done…Your work and Your love, the ways You have worked in me and on me, turning my previous seasons of fainting in parched deserts into flourishing vineyards of flowing new wine. I remember who You are, I remember Your heart for me and Your power in me and Your love for me. I stretch out my hands to You. You say if we thirst, we are to come to You, and I am like a scorched land—dried up and emptied of life. I hunger and thirst for You and I will be satisfied.

Quickly, Lord. I languish. I need Your hand and Your help now. My spirit fails. Don’t turn Your face from me or hide the light of Your countenance from me. If You turn away, all is lost for me.

Let me hear You this morning—in the opening of my eyes to the promise of light, I trust if I listen, I will hear the song of love You sing over me.

Make me know the way I should go, for all of my hope for standing or moving from beneath the enemy’s strength is found in You. You are ALL of my hope. ALL of me is crying out to be lifted by ALL of You. Deliver me! I have run to You for refuge, let me find deliverance in the shelter of Your presence.

Teach me Your will, for You are my God. Not enemy or self or any other thing gets to direct me from this point. I want things Your way, according to Your will—no lesser thing will do. Your Spirit is good, only You can lead me on level ground, in right ways, so that I rise in good standing with solid foundation beneath my feet. I want my feet to land upon the narrow way, the path of life.

For Your name’s sake, Lord, preserve my life. I am Your servant, I carry Your name as I journey through this life. I want people to look at me and see Your love, your righteousness and Your standards at work; I want them to watch you intimately weave Your life into the life of one You made. If You are not working in me and on me and through me, I will tarnish Your name. For Your name’s sake, I need You to lift my soul from this trouble in a display of Your righteousness at work. I need You to flood me with Your steadfast love and cut of my enemy’s power over me through it. Your love destroys the oppressor’s grip, it causes the adversary’s vexation to cease, it overrules the afflicter’s power to destroy.

I long to serve You well. In every way the enemy hinders this longing in this season, for the sake of Your name, make manifest Your victory and lift me up."

What my ruin cannot rob me of

It was one of those day. They don’t happen often, maybe a handful of times in my life. I looked in the mirror and my involuntary reaction to what I saw was to weep. I bawled. The body of the person looking back at me was so broken, so fallen, so grotesque that the hope-extracting question that lingers in the back of my mind hit me like a whip and left a ringing in my ears: “Is my body so far gone that it is irreparable?” I wanted to respond with, “No. With God all things are possible;” but my memory knows the paths my body has walked and limped and staggered and dragged itself. So instead I let myself sink to the floor and give the tears the time they needed to fall.

When the wells of sorrow or disappointment or discouragement or whatever painful mix those salty waters held finally ran dry, I stood and dried my face as I heard myself whisper, “Grieve quickly the things you cannot change.”

Twenty years have taught me that it’s on the days like these that I know I need to cover my broken body with a garment of thankfulness. So as I opened the door that allowed me my moment of confrontation, I chose to be grateful that even in my state of perpetual ruin, I can still serve the Lord.

And with that truth a necessary crutch, I continue my limp as I wait for tomorrow, because tomorrow is a new day…and maybe that one will be the day of redemption.

———

John 12:1–3 “Six days before the Passover, Jesus therefore came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. So they gave a dinner for him there. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those reclining with him at table. Mary therefore took a pound of expensive ointment made from pure nard, and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.”

A meditation on Psalm 84:5–8

Psalm 84:5–8
5 Blessed are those whose strength is in You,
    in whose heart are the highways to Zion.
6 As they go through the Valley of Baca
    they make it a place of springs; 

    the early rain also covers it with pools.
7 They go from strength to strength; 

    each one appears before God in Zion.
8 O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer; 

    give ear, O God of Jacob! Selah

Verse 5 begins with the declaration that the one who has no strength within themselves, and must draw fully from the Lord, is blessed. Being in a position where we feel the full force of our weakness is not pleasant, in fact, it is downright painful, but here the Lord tells us that this place of desperate want is a place of blessing. And as the psalmist continues, we will begin to see some of the reasons why.

This verse completes this declaration by adding that the means of blessing is not just the weak one finding their strength in the Lord, it is also that the highways of their hearts lead them to Him. A highway is road that is well-traveled; much work has gone into laying its foundation, maintaining and building up the place where feet continually tread. And where do these highways forged upon the heart lead? To Zion; the dwelling place of God. Namely, whether you are in the Valley or in the heights, build the highways in your heart to lead you to the Lord—make your course to His arms and His keeping so continual that it becomes second nature; it makes me think of Nathan’s Grandma Lillian who sat at the piano in her advanced state of dementia and played hymns…she may not have remembered our names, but she remembered His.

Verse 6 speaks to the valleys of life that we would not choose, the places of such pain, grief and despair that they are referred to here as “the Valley of weeping.” Be it loss or lack, whatever has dragged us down to this place of want and sorrow, we find what comes to the saint who has cast themselves upon the strength of the Lord and whose heart runs with weariness and desperation to Him; “springs.” A spring is a place where water moving underground finds an opening to the land surface and emerges. A spring draws water from an aquifer, which, get this, is a water-bearing rock. So essentially, the psalmist is saying that as we go through the Valley of weeping, we learn to draw living water from the Rock. And in case we languish along the way, there has been an “early rain,” where God has gone before us and provided pools of water from which to drink. I wish I could lay out how clearly this moves my heart—from my own experience, oftentimes those pools are found in the people who stand beside us in our pain because they’ve been there before. He knows the paths that we must tread; every jagged edge of every rock at the bottom of every valley has pressed first into His flesh before it has reached ours. He is sufficient to bear us up.

And can I point out, it says, “as they go THROUGH the Valley…” There is time to laugh and a time to weep, and both are seasons filled with purpose. But we need not remain in the Valley forever.

Verse 7 tells us that even as we draw our strength from the Lord; the revelation of new and endless weakness only leads us into new and endless aspects of coming to KNOW God’s strength. When we lean fully upon Him, His arms draw us nearer and nearer His kind and merciful face.

And finally, to end this wonderful meditation, we must look at verse 8. Here the Psalmist appeals to the Lord by two of His many names: Lord of Hosts and God of Jacob. I have found that the uses of God’s name in the Bible are so intentional that to investigate why they are placed where they are leads to opening up layers of richness to both the passages I am considering as well as aspects of who God is. I found both of these names to be interesting choices, but the reasons I found for their placement are full of encouragement and beauty.

Lord of Hosts. This means Lord of armies…angel armies…myriads and myriads of angelic beings are at the service of the Lord. I often use this name when I pray for things surrounding great battles; and while that could absolutely be appropriate in this context (Valleys of Weeping can bring about many battles of the heart, mind and emotions), I found another consideration that blessed my heart. One of the reasons God made angels is to minister to humans (Psalm 91:11–12, Matthew 4:11, Hebrew 1:7, etc); here the Psalmist, staggering his way through a seasons of great darkness—emptied of self—cries out to God for what he needs—many, many angels to tend to his many, many wounds.

God of Jacob. This one I just can’t get over. Let me tell you about Jacob. Jacob means “deceiver, cheater;” from the womb he bore a name that spoke into his life choices, and there was great cost to the choices he made. He cheated his brother Esau out of his birthright, and tricked his father into giving him the blessing not intended for him. And as a direct result, he had to flee his home and never saw either of his parents again. He continued his journey by working for 20 years for a man whose character flaws matched his own and then some. But instead of growing in bitterness and zeal for self, Jacob grew in humility. And when he was finally heading home, he heard word that his brother Esau, whose hatred and pursuit of revenge had caused him to flee, was coming to meet him with what was essentially a small army. And Jacob was undone; he took all his fear and despair and humble acknowledgement of guilt. His tired legs from running, and he grabbed hold of God with both hands and wrestled with Him—his determination that he would not rise without the blessing of the Lord left him not just with a limp, but with a new name and a family that carried the promise of the Messiah. Jacob reminds me that the moments of wrestling with God in the valley of weeping are the moments that change the way we walk; they bring about conviction and the certainty of proven faith if we will but drink from the springs of living water that are called forth from the Rock of Ages when the force of our fall breaks the hard places within us. Let us call out to the God of Jacob; the God who has seen our choices that didn’t pan out, our sin that caused great loss, our compilation of offenses done against us, our emotional turmoil that causes us to blunder and falter amid the failure and despair of life….this God of Jacob who has seen and even still will go before, stand beside, and come behind us to redeem to the uttermost any and every broken life with compassion and gentleness and the authority of perfect love.

The Saints on the Battlefield

I wanted to share with you a vision the Lord gave me several months ago, I wasn't sure what to do with it at the time, but feel like it is time to share. 

I was reading in Psalm 102 where the Psalmist speaks of Zion (the dwelling place of God), just going through my reading in the usual way, when I read a verse and suddenly found myself bawling—tears streaming out of my eyes. I was startled, and reread what I had just passed: Verse 14 says “For Your servants hold her stones dear and have pity on her dust.”

Suddenly I found myself standing on a huge battlefield, it stretched endlessly for as far as the eye could see in every direction. It was covered in rolling hills (similar to the end of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe), and sprinkled across these hills were saints (anyone washed by the blood of the Lamb). Every single one of them was holding in their arms a gigantic boulder; a rock so heavy it required all their strength and left no room in their hands for any other weapons. They were standing, looking out across the battlefield, which was covered with piles of rubble, and they were weeping. Not just “crying,” but weeping with the desperation and sorrow of ones who had just watched their loved ones be completely destroyed.

The battlefield was the Church. And the saints who remained standing at the end of the war were the ones who had not set down the boulders in their arms; the stones of Truth revealed to us in the Word of God. The piles of rubble were the fallen saints who had compromised and disregarded the Truth of the Bible.

Followers of Jesus, to survive the battle that is coming, you will only remain standing if you are rooted deeply in the Truth of the Word of God. You must consider the foundational truths found in the Bible of Who God is, what He is like, what He says is right and wrong to be dear…so dear that you are unwilling to lay them down for any reason to appease any person, including, for the ease of your own life, yourself. You must also remember who your enemies truly are (not each other or other people) and fight this spiritual battle not with physical weapons, but with prayer.

The Chasm and the Blood of Peace

I was in prayer the other night for our country, and my heart was drawn to the painful present overview of the response to the pandemic. As I prayed, I watched the land be split in two and the space grow between the 2 pieces of ground until a vast, bottomless chasm was left. In prayer, I saw on one side of the expanse the “haves”…the rich, the powerful, adults. And on the other, the “have nots”…the poor, the weak, children. As I watched the divide grow between the people, I looked at what was tearing them apart and separating them in such a grotesque way. Huge principalities of “fear,” “greed,” “pride” and “hatred” propelled the sides outward, and a call echoed throughout the divide, “Every man for himself!”

And as I looked upon the devastation of the “have nots” with even less, and the “haves” who had gathered more, I sat and wept before the Lord.

Eventually, I quietly, humbly asked Him, “What can heal such a divide?”

And He said, “The blood is the bridge.”
And He brought to mind this verse:

Colossians 1:19-20 (21-23)
“For in [Christ] all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through Him to reconcile to Himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of His cross.”

There are ones who can bridge the divide…who can walk across the chasm as if on solid ground. They are the ones redeemed by the blood of Jesus.

Why the redeemed?
Two reasons:
1) They are at peace with the LORD.

I told Nathan the other day that the least appreciated piece of the armor of God we have received in Ephesians 6 are the shoes of readiness. They way I understand these shoes is different than I’ve ever heard anyone explain them, so I will try to articulate how I see them. Ephesians 6:15 says, “and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace.” The readiness given by the gospel of peace: What is this peace the gospel has given us? It has justified us before our righteous Judge; it has given us peace with the Father, through the work of Jesus so we can enter into the very presence of God, just as Adam and Eve did before the fall in the Garden of Eden. Because of the blood of Jesus, we are at peace with our Maker. Do you know how powerful a position that is? I hope you do. It’s like the apostle Paul is wrestling with in Philippians 1 where he’s setting life and death before him and stating simply, hey, both have their benefits for me, where God takes me doesn’t matter because for me, “To live is Christ, to die is gain.” When we are at peace the the Lord, the demands of life, the opinions of people, and the dividing factors of fear, greed, pride and hatred lose their power over us. By the grace of God, we redeemed sinners carry with us the call to die to self and live out the love of Jesus in the world around us…come what may. Romans 16:20 says, “The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet.” OUR feet.

Which leads us nicely into the second reason:

2) The redeemed carry with them the power of the blood to make whole.

Remember in Luke 4 when Jesus stood in the synagogue and read from the scroll of Isaiah (chapter 61), He read verses 1-2a and stopped abruptly with the declaration that Him standing there that very moment was a fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy.

It’s one of everyone’s favorite verses to quote, but they stop too soon. So Isaiah 61:1-4 says:
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me,
    because the Lord has anointed Me
to bring good news to the poor;
    He has sent Me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
    and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor, 

This is where Jesus stopped…declaring this portion was fulfilled in Him.

    and the day of vengeance of our God;
    to comfort all who mourn;
to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
    to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
    the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
    the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.

If you have been redeemed and raised up by the finished work of Jesus—brought from death to life—He has planted you as an oak of righteousness for His glory….and He has done it with PURPOSE!

We find that purpose in verse 4:

They shall build up the ancient ruins;
    they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
    the devastations of many generations.

At this moment, we stand in verse 4. Right now, through the Church AT THIS TIME, this verse is to be fulfilled.

We are to BUILD and RAISE UP and REPAIR. Looking out over this chasm, it is not the result of just the Pandemic…it is the result of ancient ruins and generations of devastation. We look upon the culmination of years of ruin and devastation; wickedness has taken it’s filthy hands and ripped apart the fabric of society and civility and dignity, it has celebrated the violence and violation of humanity because we are marked by the image of God, whom it detests.

The redeemed must rebuild upon the divide, because we carry the healing properties of the blood of Christ upon the white robes that cover our sin scarred bodies. Every place our feet tread should leave the mark of hope…the promise of possibility because we are the ones who KNOW the power of the blood…we’ve received the good news, our broken hearts have been bound up, we’ve been freed from the captivity of our side and released from our prison chains, we’ve been comforted, we’ve seen the Lord bring beauty from ashes, and praise from our fainting spirits…and we’ve known the utter glory and wonder of being made righteous by God Himself poured out for us.

And so, He says, Build up…raise up…repair. Because contrary to the call echoing across this charm of “every man for himself,” we do not seek self, we seek the eternal good of those around us, no matter which side of the divide they stand upon. We don’t have to bow to fear because He is with us; we don’t have to be consumed by greed when the One who provides for us has called us to pour ourselves out; we can humbly bear up under the disapproval of others because we’re at peace with the One who sees us clearly; we don’t have permission to hate because we are called to love with the greater love of Jesus that we have mercifully received.

The blood is the bridge. And if you are covered in the blood, you carry the materials for the bridge. So RISE UP, Church! Rise up and stand in the power of the God of Peace who will crush Satan under your feet.

the Refuge that never fails

my Hiding Place
©4-26-2020 hannah mclean 

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
when life brings
pain unyielding
fear overflowing
brazen unknowns
that sweep the stability
of my feet
downstream

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
shielding me from darkness
when sides too steep
create valleys too deep
to venture forth
or rise
Your presence
passes through
my fingers vainly covering
to show me light
in the dark nights
of my soul 

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
shelter
in the battles
that rage
inside and out
in the storms
that toss me
bruising
breaking
bewildering
in the many rushing waters
that threaten to
uproot the hope
dislodge the dream
distort the way
and
in the mundane sway
of waiting
waiting
day by day

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
when forgotten shadows
of times past
emerge within me
crippling the moment
marring the movement
of my present
i writhe beneath
the weight of
my weakest places
unafraid
to look
to feel
to weep
for i have learned
the ways of Your
mysterious healing measures
safe in Your shadow
mine yield

You are my Hiding Place
Your wings close over me
the Refuge
that never fails
fashioned from the everlasting stones
of Your love

Memorial Day Reflections

It gets me every time; the 3-Volley Salute followed by Taps. The sound of the first shot fired transports me back to the front row at my brother’s graveside service; encompassed by grief as I fix my eyes on a coffin containing his uniform-clad body. The shots that follow reverberate through my heart bringing back to life the places of pain that over time have grown dormant; shudders running through me from head to toe. And when finally there is silence, the gentle sound of Taps fills the air, as if wishing to soothe the abruptness of the pain that was just thrust upon me; a haunting accompaniment to my falling tears. 

Today as this tradition came to a close, I felt as these memories flashed before me—of a coffin lowering into a grave, of the feeling of dirt filling my shoes as it fell from the shovel while I put dirt onto his open grave, of the sobs that came in crushing waves breaking out of my chest with overwhelming intensity—gratitude. Time passes. Details and images in my mind grow fuzzy. But traditions like these take these memories, frozen in time I leave further and further behind me, and brings them for a moment into my today. They remind me that even if things get harder to remember, this fact remains: I am a marked woman. Marked by the life of my brother Noah, marked by the love I had for and received from him, and marked by the losses I know because he is no longer here.

The time for mercy is ending.

I want you to know that I am not a woman of politics, I am a woman of faith. So set aside your political lens before you read this, because I don’t care where you stand on the political spectrum. From my point of view, the battle belongs to the Lord: It is God against sin—not people against people—and I care about your soul’s wellbeing.

I’m going to be very frank right now; more direct than perhaps I have ever been on here. We’re at a crux as a country. When I sit down to pray, I find that God has shut up my instinctual prayer for mercy; that in the face of the atrocity of abortion, I am no longer allowed to cry out for mercy for our country. “It is the wrong prayer,” He tells me. Instead, I am lifting my voice to those around me with this plea, “Turn and repent!”

Let me lay out reality for you. In increasing measure over the last few years, we’ve been shown the blunt truth about abortion in very wide-reaching visuals and testimonies: Physicians have stood up and explained the heart-breaking process of removing living children from the womb piece by piece; Planned Parenthood executives have talked heartlessly about harvesting and selling the body parts of aborted children; former abortion workers and recipients of abortion have described the reality of what abortion is and its effects; statistics have shown that less than 2% of abortions are done because of rape/incest and less than 15% because of medical (physical & emotional combined) reasons; science has proven fetus’ ability to feel pain, made strives in helping them survive earlier and earlier outside the womb, proven the reality of what we all know…that a child in the womb is a living, individual human being. And yet, even in the face of that, in the last 2 annual reports from PP— the leading abortion provider in the US—they stated that 600,000+ new donors and over 250,000 volunteers stepped into their direct work since 2016. They showed that abortions increased and actual healthcare services decreased, government funding increased by $20 million, private contributions increased by $100 million and their total net assets increased from $1.6 billion to $1.9 billion. Legislation has arisen in state after state increasingly removing the personhood of unborn children, cheering resounds and lights shine as murder is legalized to the moment before birth, and the call has been lifted to accept infanticide (killing living, breathing infants outside the womb)—just yesterday senate democrats took a stand for letting babies born alive after failed abortions die on the table. Basically, as the blinders have been pulled off to reveal what is underneath the word “abortion” that we flippantly toss around, our society has called for more blood.

I’ve been reading through the bible this year, and I keep encountering verses about how innocent blood that is shed in a land pollutes and defiles the physical land on which it is shed and there is a point in which that blood will be too much and the land will “vomit you out” as God finally punishes utter wickedness.

Society, you have called for and celebrated death of innocent children. You look across the ocean at tribes participating in child sacrifice on physical altars to their local gods and arrogantly pat yourselves on the back for having a higher morality. But in our country, since the passing of Roe vs. Wade, we have sacrificed 60,997,447+ children on the altar of “Women’s Choice.” Whether you acknowledge or deny the LORD, He is still the one TRUE living God, and one day you WILL answer to Him, your knee WILL bow to Him and He WILL justly determine your eternal resting place. Turn and repent for the blood we have shed before the opportunity to receive mercy passes.

Isaiah 55:6–7 “Seek the Lord while He may be found; call upon Him while He is near; let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the Lord, that He may have compassion on him, and to our God, for He WILL abundantly pardon.”

Statistics on why people have abortions (per state): http://www.johnstonsarchive.net/policy/abortion/abreasons.html

How a child is aborted: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=53tzMV9OmvY

Upcoming movie of former PP exec’s life (rated R for violence): https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9024106/

Movie of real-life abortionist Grosnell: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3722234/

Do not close your eyes any longer, don’t blindly follow narratives you want to believe because you want to be accepted by the culture around you…millions of children are killed in the name of “choice” every year. Stand for women. Stand for children. Stand for HUMANITY! Stand for life.

#abortion #prolife #istandforwomen #istandforlife #truth #turnandrepent

old wounds

To heal the wounds, we must be willing to look at them...and some of mine are straight up ugly.
---
my femininity and my childhood church
©10-29-18 hannah mclean

these big brown eyes
never changed size
whether they rested beneath my mama’s watchful gaze
or peered out from behind my papa’s leg
or wondered at the sights around me as i grew
or studied the floor in awkward discomfort
as i stumbled through ages and stages
or steeled themselves against the bombarding words
that sought control of what lay behind them.

it was these same big brown eyes
in my changing face throughout the years
you had to look into
as you declared to me
again and again and again
who i was
what i was worth
where i belonged
why i existed.

“sinful girl,”
you yelled into my innocent face
“you are the cause of all men’s sin;
and you must accept
these accusations and assaults against you
because to object is to admit your guilty conscience.”

“vile female,”
you slurred at my growing frame
“your place is one of servitude
because that is all you can be trusted with.”

“wayward woman,”
you proclaimed to my developing mind
“your voice, thoughts and feelings
will always be less than any man’s
because even if he is utterly wicked,
he still has more value than you
and the right to rule over you.”

“your
identity
is
sinner.”

“unfortunate one,”
you spoke with authority over me
“you are clothed in disgrace
because that is the only thing fitting
for the likes of your gender
until a man chooses to marry you
and raise your worth through bearing children.”

“fear me”
you said in Jesus’ name
“because whatever judgments men render true of you
based on your attire
or your obedience to them
will determine your eternal resting place.”

and had not the Lord
washed these big brown eyes with grace

i would still believe you

The greater pain.

I spent a couple of hours weeping today...hour drives to and from allow time for that. I’ve been confronted with some deep wounds this season and am reminding myself continually that the Lord’s intention of revealing is always to bring healing. So I brace myself; letting the waves of pain crash over me instead of bolting away in fear.


Throughout my entire childhood, I was hurt by men claiming to bear the name of Jesus but displaying none of His goodness, and I am afraid that I blocked out things then that I don’t want to see today. These men have left marks across the core of my womanhood in such a way that as I stand back to look at them with new eyes, I see that there are parts of me that are truly mangled. I feel raw and vulnerable, and I ache in such a way that sometimes I feel like my shoulders are physically pulled down and inward.


It’s a different pain...a greater pain...than the pain inflicted on me by men outside of the Body of Christ. That pain is far more bearable than this, because this pain is twisted in such a way that the men who wielded their weapons wore masks labeled “God” so as to create confusion about who was causing my pain. And the hammers used to pound me down did not just land upon my body or my soul but also upon my spirit.


In my mind, I look upon a little girl alone in a desert. So small and so confused about her worth, her position and her pain. Silent tears slide down her face, over lips pressed together, no longer willing to cry out. Barren landscapes on every side show there is no escape, no end in sight. She stands still, facing the first colors of a sunrise, daring to hope that light is coming.


And one of the reasons I wept is because of those rays beginning to peek over the horizon. God is so gentle and wonderfully kind; in this season of revealed wounds, He has surrounded me with good, godly men to take part in healing the pieces of me that have been broken by their own. And I am grateful for this, because I have known wholeness to melt away the pain of what has been twisted simply by being present. And sometimes when past pain feels so physical, visible strength and presence make for the best environment to not just heal, but to cause the redeemed heart to flourish.


----


"The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength." 1 Samuel 2:4