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#46883 - 07/08/05 08:10 PM
Re: Enthusiasm
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Member
Registered: 06/03/04
Posts: 2830
Loc: Massachusetts, USA
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I'm sure we all have our moments, some are not as obviously enthusiastic as others, but still enthusiastic.
The quiet resolve to not give up no matter what keeps us going and not necesarily has to always show on our countenance... although there is something about the enthusiasts that shows through any way! Does this make sense?
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#46884 - 07/10/05 07:14 AM
Re: Enthusiasm
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Member
Registered: 01/01/04
Posts: 678
Loc: Tazewell County, VA, USA
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Another way I've seen it written...enthusiasm is the 'breath of God'...how wonderful! When I'm excited and enthusiastic about something, it's GOD giving me His breath, His spirit, His joy, His hope, HIM so that I can do all things through Him.
Ain't it just GRAND?!!! Praise God for HIMSELF!
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#46887 - 07/14/05 07:08 AM
Re: Enthusiasm
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Member
Registered: 09/26/04
Posts: 3910
Loc: Alabama
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Ok, I know I'm strange and even stranger for telling some intimate things about myself, but hey, my friends don't judge me.
Inspiration is the breath of God... I read this topic a few days ago.
Driving home from work and thinking about (something that concerned me at the time), I took a deep breath. My mind told me I was breathing God into my soul. Yes, he is already there, but I needed to take him in deeper at that moment.
What have I learned? Inspiration is breathing God. Hey,don't blame me, I can't help it. God made me do it.
Seriously, I never did this before, but you can bet, I will do it whenever I need HIM from now on. It works for me.
chick
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#46890 - 07/14/05 04:00 AM
Re: Enthusiasm
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Member
Registered: 03/22/05
Posts: 4876
Loc: Canada
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I've been debating about sharing this dream I had in mid-January. It's a bit long, and I don't want to "hijack" this thread, but it kind of fits in a tendrilled way.
In the dream, I’m trying to "move on", not sure where, just to move out of my overwhelming heaviness of heart, an ever-deepening sense of lostness and futility in ever being able to feel okay again. A little girl, about five years old, is standing right in the middle of my chest, red-faced angry, with arms crossed, stamping her foot, refusing to move. I'm impatient to get going, so at first I want to grab her by the wrist and just drag her with me, thinking this is just a childish temper tantrum. But she's adament about not moving, and then I remember that often when children react like that, it’s because they’re not finished doing what they were doing.
So I ask her if that is the case, is she in the middle of doing something that she really needs to finish. She nods, takes my hand and leads me in through my rib cage, around my heart, to a secret door hidden just behind my heart. We go down the narrow staircase. It’s dark, but not frightening. I can feel my heart beating against my shoulder as it brushes against the wall of the staircase.
We finally emerge into a small, breathtakingly beautiful room. Covering one entire wall is the most beautiful stained-glass window I’ve ever seen…brilliant reds, blues, purples, golds…with the light shining through it, the room is bathed in a warm and gorgeous glow. The floor is warm underneath my feet, covered in a thick, rich red carpet. Facing the window is the only other thing in the room, a kneeler. The kneeler is made out of warm oak, with thick red velvet covering the kneeling pad and top of the kneeler. I look at the little girl for an explanation, but I already know the answer. This is my soul.
I realize that the stained glass window is a tapestry of my life thus far. It, and my soul, are infinitely more beautiful than I could ever have imagined, especially with my current sadness distorting any positive sense of self. Then she moves over to the other side of the room, where I see a very sickly thin old man leaning weakly against the wall. The child bends down to speak with him, and beckons me over to help him to sit up. He’s very weak, frail, and bedraggled. As I pick him up, I realize who he is…he’s my spirit. It frightens me to see my spirit so weak and sickly. I look at the little girl for an explanation. She looks up at me with eyes filled with sorrow.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” she said. “Our spirit is willing, but our flesh is weak.” I’m confused for a moment, having always associated that particular phrase with sin, but somehow knowing that’s not what she means. She shook her head, reading my confusion. “No, that’s not it either.” And then I know what she’s trying to tell me. My spirit nods his head and says, “You mustn’t think that I don’t want to carry on or that you’re doing anything wrong. You’re doing everything right. I am willing, but the flesh is too weak right now. We have to heal. We must be still and just know.”
I woke up exhilarated by this dream. It was telling me what deep down I already knew. That I had to stop beating myself up for my lack of physical capability and emotional strength right now and just "be". And that's really where I began to turn away from that "acting enthusiastic" when I could barely drum up the energy to breathe much less act.
I began to truly embrace and enjoy the chance to just "be", to be okay with not being able to do anything more right now. To just breathe in that depth of His healing love and "know" that it was okay to be here for as long as it takes my body and mind to heal. I am right where I'm supposed to be, quietly "being".
Somehow, even in my "being", I'm still a vital part of the "ebb and flow" of life...we flow however and wherever we are able to, and we ebb when the body forces us to pull back and heal. [ July 13, 2005, 09:06 PM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]
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#46892 - 07/14/05 10:36 PM
Re: Enthusiasm
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Member
Registered: 03/22/05
Posts: 4876
Loc: Canada
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Thanks Dotsie, I have been having profoundly spiritual, life-altering dreams since I was about 13 years old. They have been vivid, memorable and incredibly rich in imagery and message. I have treasured each and every one of those dreams throughout my life.
Except for what I call "The Blanket" dream in 2002 and this "Stained Glass Soul" dream in January, the profound dreams pretty much stopped coming after Dad died in 1999. I've been praying for them to come back, because they're like old spiritual friends, and I miss them terribly, but they're very rare now.
I still dream, every night, but lately I seem to be living an entirely different life during those dreams...and each night's dream builds on previous dreams...I recognize the people and the places, but each dream occurs in a later timeframe than the last one...oh, the burned buildings, wounded people and gory bloodbaths I've seen in these dreams! They're not exactly nightmares (I had worse nightmares while on the anti-depressants!!) but I wake up exhausted, as if I've been working hard all night (which could explain the chronic fatigue if I thought there was some connection).
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