‘I was lookin' for love in all the wrong places
Lookin' for love in too many faces
Searchin' their eyes
Lookin' for traces of what I'm dreaming of…’

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net/David Castillo Dominici

That was me for far too many years; searching for a soulmate, ‘needing’ a fulfilling relationship, hoping for domestic bliss. Yet the harder I looked the further the prize receded into the distance.

It’s a basic human need, this need for love and belonging, and we reach a point in our lives where our spiritual and emotional growth can become stymied if we fail to satisfy that persistent yearning. We become ‘stuck’, unable to move on with other important tasks and milestones in life. Most of us settle down and marry in our twenties or thirties and muddle on with varying degrees of conflict and stress, peppered with romantic highlights and for those who get lucky, some hard-won joy and contentment.

Others of us turn to our careers or what we perceive to be our passion to fill that nagging ache within our hearts and souls. Still others care for parents and relatives, and some of us are besotted with our four-footed furry friends. Every path taken is valid and significant, and every twist and turn can be molded into a valuable lesson. For me personally, ‘real’ love remained elusive and I settled into my 56^th year determined to find ways to live a meaningful life without a partner by my side. In fact, God sort of arranged it for me.

It’s not that I’d forgotten about God over the years or even ignored Him overmuch. I’ve been a believer for a long time now and constant communication between El Shaddai and this somewhat wayward daughter of His has been the norm. Yet, I still made some wrong assumptions that drove a wedge between us. I was still trying to fill the God-shaped hole, which exists inside all humanity, with human love.

But God pursued me relentlessly.

A fiancé (not the first) exited stage right (my front door) in a flurry of doubt and confusion, citing unfinished business and pressure from his adult children. It’s a long and somewhat wretched story that I’ll leave entirely to your imagination. (Cue in the musical score from Les Misérables.)

This time, the separation was so traumatic, following close after my mother’s death, that I decided to go it alone for the rest of my days. Well, not quite alone…for God had finally got my full attention. I was done with human relationships (family and friends excepted). Absolutely done, I tell you.

I’d voiced similar sentiments in the past but this was the first time I knew, in my heart of hearts, that I truly meant it. I finally handed the reigns entirely over to my Creator and King, and the fear began to dissipate. Grief remained for a time but not intolerably so. Over the following months, as I read more and more scripture, searching each page with new impassioned eyes, a mantle of peace descended. My shoulders eased. The panic attacks began to ebb away.

As I steeped myself further and further in Christian literature and reached out to my priceless, loving Christian friends, I began to really know my God.

And you know what? I liked Him a lot! In fact, it wasn’t long before I was pretty sure I was in love! And the revelation that left me the most ‘gobsmacked’ is that I knew I’d finally found the one true love; the only one who could completely cherish every inch of my being; the only one strong enough, wise enough and gentle enough to give my still-girlish heart the depth of love and security I’d craved all my life.

But God didn’t stop at sweeping me off my feet. In very short order He set about building our very first home. It was a dream I thought I’d never achieve, and truth be known, no one else believed I’d achieve it either. Financial advisers insisted that, at my age and having only a disability support payment as income, I had no chance of breaking out of that iron-maiden commonly called the rental trap. Real Estate agents shook their heads and showed me through shoddy little hovels they assured me were within my price range. It was disturbing to see the combination of pity and desperation in their eyes as I said no, time and again. God had better in store for me. I was certain of that much.

He knew and understood my special needs and He also knew the desires of my heart, as, of course, He still does. This was one guy I was going to trust to come through for me. We were a team now and I had to learn to work with Him, not under my own steam for a change. I listened carefully, and I stepped out in faith, asking Him to stay my hand if I misread His cues.

And so it was that I came to find a block of land in one of the most beautiful parts of the country; a bank to give me the very small mortgage I needed to secure it, and a builder to give me a fixed-price contract beyond all the odds, which just happened to fit my tiny budget. How those funds came to be in my bank account in the first place constitutes a whole parallel narrative to this story, but I’ll spare you those seemingly mundane details for now. In truth each step of the process was a miracle.

During this honeymoon period of ours, God flooded me with His miracles. It was a tsunami of blessing and abundance. Along the way, there were some headaches and stresses, but that’s to be expected when you build a house.  We took it in our stride. Mostly, we just had fun! What a happy time we had collaborating over building design and materials, flooring, paint colours, tiles…and all the little extras that make a house a home. It was effortless!

The House that God Built

We moved in about a month after the expected hand-over date but He had even that under control. At first I was disappointed about having to wait but I soon realized that, with my chemical sensitivities, I wouldn’t have been able to live with the odour of fresh paint. It would have brought me to my knees physically. And so God delayed things a little. By the time He carried me across the threshold (for real!) the odour had dissipated and all that remained was the heady fragrance of fresh mountain air.

For the finishing touch, He proceeded to fill my rainwater tanks with bountiful rain. They’re overflowing as I write.

I don’t know any human being who can pull that off, do you?

I think I might finally have met ‘the one’. And He doesn’t even mind if I find human love as well, as long as I continue to put Him first. Either way, I’m going to be just fine.

God makes a fine husband. In fact, there’s none better.

And the view's not too shabby, either.

Melinda Jensen is a writer concerned with social justice, spirituality, the environment, and equality. She authors a blog on domestic abuse, particularly as it pertains to its psychological and emotional effects. Over the years she has had a smattering of short stories and poetry published in national magazines and anthologies.  At the moment she is working on two fantasy novels with environmental themes, both aimed at middle school readers. And more importantly, she’s engrossed in a non-fiction work that focuses on thriving in a materialistic, consumerist world, while limited by a tiny budget.

Me Too

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net/FrameAngel

Well, me too. How ‘bout that?

It’s a subject I notice Christians seem to be skirting around, not addressing from any aspect, let alone a scriptural one.

So…me too. I’m one of tens of millions, probably more. For women in this lucky country…Australia…the figure sits at a disturbing one in five women. Look around you. Yes, you! In Church. Look around you. One in five females has been a victim of sexual violence. That’s not counting every-day, garden-variety sexual harassment. If we factor that in, I reckon the figure is more like one in one. That’s all of us. Married. Single. Engaged. Divorced. It doesn’t matter. We’re all ‘fair game.’

The ‘Me Too’ campaign has erupted in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein expose. In case you haven’t caught up on the news this fortnight and don’t know who Weinstein is, I’ll briefly recap.

Harvey Weinstein is a vastly successful, renowned and widely lauded movie producer. He is, of course, also immensely wealthy. That goes with the territory.

So too, it seems, does an enormous sense of entitlement that underpins the ugly underbelly of the current climate of rampant narcissistic machismo that sets the tone for our entertainment industry. He has, seemingly without reservation, propositioned, touched, threatened and downright sexually assaulted (let’s call it for what it is…raped!) huge numbers of actresses…sorry ‘actor is now the politically correct term. But the ‘actors’ he targets are all female. So far he’s been accused by around 50 women and that figure is escalating by the day.

Some of his targets have tried to report his actions. Others have been cowed. The overwhelming complicity from other men in the industry is, possibly, even more disturbing (and I’ll never watch another Matt Damon movie again. And then there’s Tarantino, not so much of a surprise but a bigger disappointment, given the sway he holds in the industry. He’s sorry now, but hey, too late). They knew. They observed. They were told. But they did nothing. It would compromise their careers if they did. Actually, I have that wrong. They did more than nothing. They actively worked to cover up Weinstein’s sexual abuse and harassment. And so, these women were left unprotected…un-championed. Disbelieved. And so they were shut up.

The real ‘shock’, however, (not to me) is that women the world over…ordinary women with ordinary jobs and lives and families, experience the same humiliation and degradation that well-known actresses are only just now feeling safe enough to expose. Think about that. Wealthy, ’perfect’ women in privileged positions, living fairy-tale lives, are only just now gaining the fortitude and courage to tell the sordid stories that are part and parcel of their daily existence.

Their stories have been enormously triggering for women and girls the world over. Add to that the widespread lack of empowerment the average woman experiences, even in this so-called enlightened age, where women are supposedly valued and equal…and you have a seething, boiling, wave of anger and resentment that is gaining momentum with every ‘me too’ posted on social media. Many of us don’t know what to do with the pain that is rising to the surface; pain we bury deep in order to survive just being female in this world. We desperately hope the whole thing doesn’t just fizzle and die, and yet, it may well do.

I have absolutely no idea how I would navigate life with its everyday experiences that include, for me as for so many, the degradation and humiliation of being reduced to an object of little value; something to be judged, sentenced, tortured and humiliated by the very beings God put on this earth to protect me and provide for me - I do not know how I would have survived so far without Jesus. I truly don’t.

I’ve worked in a Christian counselling environment wherein I was entrusted with the files and stories of hundreds of people, right here where I live, in this small, conservative, and overwhelmingly Christian city. If you’re under the illusion things are vastly different in Christian communities, please think again. The complicity of the Christian hierarchy mirrors that of the secular world. In many ways, it’s worse. There’s more than just a cover up. There is enablement through lack of condemnation for the perpetrators’ actions, a noticeable absence of any consequences and a widespread hushing up of victims.

Overall, there’s still a distressing tendency for the blame to be placed on ‘Eve’. Where there is seduction, she (the woman), is all-too-often deemed the temptress, even if she has rebuffed the advances. If sexual harassment has taken place and is made public, it’s overwhelmingly the woman who loses face, support and fellowship within the Church. She is far too often cast out of the community…while ‘he’ remains in leadership and worship positions. He is forgiven and allowed to continue his spiritual life, without missing a beat. She is left floundering, wandering alone in the desert…to pick up the threads…start a new life…somewhere else where she hopes they know nothing of her past.

Yes, I have witnessed it. Yes, I have experienced it. Not just harassment (as if that’s a trivial thing?) but sexual abuse and rape. I’m here. I’m raw. I’m telling it like it is.

I’ve experienced it first hand, and through the stories of hundreds of others.

So, yes. Me too. I have a tender saviour, who holds me so gently, and yet with such power and strength. In the final analysis, I’m okay.

But the Body of Christ has the distraught and damaged spirits of many of its women to answer for. We cry out for understanding and help. We reach out, mostly, to each other – other women who feel our feminine pain.

And yet…it is not yet enough.

I don’t propose to have the answers or the expertise to suggest a course of action but I do feel compelled to bring this issue before you all; to ask the question; to open the dialogue. We have an opportunity to be part of a massive wave of change and healing that will benefit the entire Christian community. Half the body of Christ is deeply wounded…and floundering.

Let’s go to Jesus with that, shall we? Men and women alike.

Priorities - Yours, Mine or God's? by Melinda Jensen

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net/Exsodus

 If you're like me you probably have several writing projects on the boil at any one time. You'll likely be writing regularly for your blog or website, crafting short stories for competitions or in the hope of publication, and having a bit of a dalliance with poetry. Perhaps you also love to write devotionals. Then there's your main project, 'the' book – the one you've been writing for months now, or perhaps even years. It might be fiction, non-fiction or faction, depending on your leanings and unique talent.

I'm always tempted to pick up whichever task takes my fancy at the time. You know, the one I feel like writing in the moment. That's all well and good sometimes, and it often provides a delicious taste of satisfaction and fulfilment, at least on a certain (human) level. But, as with everything else in our busy lives, we need to pause and consider whether or not our industry aligns with God's design – and that's not always easy.

Prayer, of course, is our first port of call. And then we wait...looking for subtle signs or nudgings in our spirit. At times, God gives us free reign, indulging us and allowing us to use our time to develop our creativity and skills. At other times, God has a very specific plan for us. It might be only for the day or it might be for a period of weeks or months. We can be sure though, that He has a particular purpose for our writing and a particular time frame in which to do His will.

Ecclesiastes 3:1

'To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:'

At times, we'll receive confirmation from a fellow Christian about where our focus should be, although we must always test what we hear by bringing it before God and seeking Him in earnest prayer. I received this kind of direction from a beautiful woman of God a few months ago. As an editor, publisher and fellow Christian, I felt her words resonate with me as she read some of my work and gave me direction. I now know which one of the many writing tasks God wants me to concentrate on over the coming year. (No more excuses for me!)

At other times, I only figure God's priorities in retrospect. If, at the end of the day, I feel God's arms around me, and hear the words, 'Well done, good and faithful daughter,' wash over me, I know I've been fulfilling His will. My habitual anxiety abates as I'm bathed in an incredible sense of spiritual and emotional well-being. It's like snuggling up to a newborn babe and drinking in that delicate smell of luscious soft skin and downy, sweet hair. The experience of peace and contentment is profound.

Jeremiah 29:11

'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'

When we allow God's will to come to fruition in our lives, doors open and the path is laid before us bit by bit. If we ask Him, as I invariably do, to gently correct us when we go astray, He is faithful. He has pointed me back to the path many times in my life by simply stepping in and stopping me from proceeding, and then leading me back in the right direction. For the past four years, I've authored a blog about verbal, emotional and psychological abuse. From time to time, I consider it time to let it go; I feel the blog has run its course and served its purpose. But every, single time … without fail over the past year or so … each time I've considered shutting the blog down, I receive an email or comment from a new subscriber who thanks me sincerely for helping them to understand, and to embark on their healing journey. Many have been moved to tears. It's a beautiful dance between me and my best friend, my confidante, my King and my saviour.


God's will never harms us. He promises we will prosper but we need to bear in mind that His riches are not those of the world. We may earn an income, or we may not, but our spirits will be nourished and nurtured every step of the way. We'll continue to grow and learn, but most importantly, He'll be using our words to touch the hearts and minds of His people.

May this be our prayer: 

 Hebrews 13:21-21

'Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may He work in us what is pleasing to Him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.'

Melinda Jensen is a writer of both fiction and non-fiction, dedicated to protection of the environment, social justice and equality. She has had a smattering of short stories, poetry and articles published in books, magazines and newspapers. While having two fantasy novels currently underway for middle school readers, she is focused on a work of non-fiction, which she hopes to illustrate herself. For four years she has ministered to victims of domestic abuse through her blog www.killingmesoftly.co

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Original artwork by Melinda Jensen

2016 has been a tough year, both here in Australia and throughout the globe. Wars and the inevitable atrocities that accompany them, are escalating. Americans too, must be feeling the winds of change acutely – some distressed by the presidential election results and others by the conflict and worldwide criticism that have ensued in the wake of their political choice. It's a situation that leaves the global community divided and fearful.

Only one thing seems certain. Emotions are high. We all tend to become further entrenched in our positions during times of high stress, desperate to either flee or fight. Fear becomes our sole motivation. Yet, at times of great turmoil it's both far more important and far more difficult to hold tight to God and follow His lead.

I have heard many stories of woe and heartache during the past year, clothed in robes of bitterness, anger, sorrow and fear. People are turning on each other, unashamedly claiming to not care about what happens to others beyond their shores, or even their own neighbourhoods. I was shocked to learn that some of my overseas friends feel this way about Australia, and therefore me and mine. Disturbingly, I have heard the harshest judgements from fellow Christians who seem to feel more than justified in turning away the needy and allowing the less fortunate to go hungry and homeless. I can only wonder at how much this grieves the Father's heart.

Enchanted by (or is it morbidly fascinated with) Charles Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol' since I was a child, I find myself ruminating about its metaphors and wondering if the world is currently 'stuck', like the bah-humbug Ebenezer Scrooge before he meets the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future.

How would most of us fare if visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past, the first eerie visitor to Scrooge's miserly hearth right before Christmas?

This angelic spirit, as I prefer to think of it, shows Scrooge scenes from his past that occurred around Christmas-time, to demonstrate the necessity of changing his ways, as well as to show the reader how Scrooge came to be so bitter and cold-hearted. The lesson here, of course, is that none of us are born this way. Life is often cruel, just as it was for the young Ebenezer, who grew up, devoid of real love in a miserable boarding school, abandoned by his father.

As the years went by, he faced many hardships of the kind almost bound to break his heart and alienate him from his fellow human beings. And yet, life is not all about circumstance.

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net/Stuart Miles

As I've entered my fifties I've realized that very few people live a charmed life, and most of us have stories of heartache that helped shape who we are. When I look around me I see those who have grown through these experiences into more compassionate and aware human beings; and of course, I see those who've hardened their hearts, determined to look out for number one and only number one.

There is always the element of choice. The ghost of Christmas past doesn't linger on a sense of blame, despite relentlessly bringing painful scenes before the hapless Scrooge. Instead, he largely allows Scrooge to relive the painful memories he's so successfully snuffed out over the years. Without bringing those memories to the fore, none of us can hope to understand why we are the way we are; nor are we able to effect personal change and lay to rest any attitudes of resentment, fear and bitterness, the very attributes that are running rampant on today's world stage.

As Christians, we don't need to believe in, or encounter, ghosts. We have our very own, accessible and willing, supernatural God, ready to lead us gently on a tour of our painful pasts and re-establish His heart within us. That heart knows no bounds when it comes to compassion, empathy, generosity, kindness and acceptance. It is tireless in taking in the world's orphans and widows, the wounded and homeless, the desperate and starving, the lonely and heartbroken. He gives no heed to the colour of our skin or what part of the world we come from, but he does care what he finds deep in our hearts. Let's not disappoint Him in the coming year. Let's pray for a world-wide epiphany, a global 'Ebenezer Scrooge aha! Moment.'

by Melinda Jensen

www.killingmesoftly.co

Melinda follows Jesus as closely as she can, learning every day. Passionate about social justice, equality, the environment and mostly, discerning and activating her purpose according to who she is in Christ. She has had a humble number of short stories and poems published, in print and on the web; and is working on a couple of short stories for young people. She kids herself she might one day be able to do her own illustrations.

God As My Muse

God as My Muse

by Melinda Jensen

Few Christians would dispute that we are made in the image of God. It is one of the basic tenets of our faith but also one to which many of us give little thought.

What does it mean to be made in the image of God? Certainly, it means we are wonderfully and powerfully made and that we have twin natures, both human and divine, that often war against one another. It means we have access to the throne of God and are able to throw ourselves on His mercy when we are overwhelmed by adversity. It means He sees us as beautiful and good, even when we don’t see ourselves that way, and it means we have the power and the right to stand against the forces of darkness (as frightening as that can be).

But there is an aspect of God I once took for granted. Selfishly, I attributed it to my fleshly self, instead of appreciating the divine and benevolent gift it truly is. I’m talking about ‘creativity’ – that spark that ignites within us as we writers write.

Like many writers, I’ve always felt I was born to write. I still have an old recipe book of my mother’s in which I wrote ‘Fluff is a cat’ long before I went to school; and there was no kindergarten back then. I tripped along through my school and college English classes, able to produce prose and poetry pretty much on demand. And as the years went by, I discovered I also had a knack for arts and crafts, and my hands have been almost perpetually busy since. Until that one time …

That one time I walked away from God. My grief was immense. My sense of injustice at what had happened, not just to me but to so many others in this world, led me to become a renegade daughter. I raged at God; told Him he was an inadequate God for not protecting his people from such incredible pain; and that I believed He was simply the demi-god of Gnostic tradition – a flawed being who created a flawed world He had no real control over. And then I turned my back, telling Him I could get along very well without Him, thank you very much.

Of course, I see the incredible arrogance in my words now, but in my anguish I lashed out at the one who loves me most, as we humans so often do. I was done and dusted; ready to look out for number one for a change.

But what ensued came as rather a shock. I sat with pen and paper … but no words came to mind. I opted for the keyboard and typed what can only be called gibberish. Frustrated, I told myself I just needed a break; some time to regenerate and give my creative flair some time to swing back to equilibrium again. At least I could still paint and draw; crochet and knit; make beaded sculptures and jewellery. You name it – I’ve probably given it a shot over the years.

So out came the equipment. My tiny duplex was littered with the makings of all sorts of beautiful creations. My cat was quite delirious mucking about amongst the beads, the pencils, the brushes, the mosaic pieces, and most of all the knitting yarn! In fact, as the weeks went by and I tossed project after project in the rubbish bin, it could be said that kitty produced far better work than I did. My frustration levels threatened to erupt into a frenzy that would rival the destruction of Pompeii if I hadn’t been able to somehow keep a lid on it.

It was hindsight though, that revealed the Truth. I didn’t turn back to God because I thought, ‘Well, heck! I want my creativity back and He must have taken it away on purpose!’ I simply missed God so very much. I missed having the friend who’d been my ‘bestie’ since I was 5 years old – Jesus – to talk to and hang with. My heart felt empty … numb. It wasn’t like the pain of my circumstances had gone away. It was that I couldn’t ‘feel’ anything much at all.

And so I got down on my knees, for the hundredth time in my life, and begged forgiveness, and asked Him to please, please let me back into His fold again.

And so it was done.

I found that my heart could both cry and sing again. I felt pain and joy and everything in between.

Over the coming days, I noticed an interesting side effect. My words once more flew across the page. The pencils and paints managed to produce some pleasing pieces (though many still end up in the bin!); and my kitty is now happily chasing shiny baubles and bits of wool around the room again. My creativity returned in full measure, if not more.

Without my creative God at my centre, I simply cannot create. We are a partnership, He and I; one I can’t possibly live without, through thick and thin, sickness and health, adversity and good times. Neither my dabblings, nor yours, will ever come close to the intense beauty He has created for us … but we do have that divine, creative spark somewhere inside us, whether we write, or paint, or build marvellous things, or tinker with electronics. It doesn’t matter … it all comes from Him.

NOTE to readers: I will be away from home for a week as of today and may not have reliable internet access. I apologize in advance for any comments I'm unable to respond to in a timely manner.

Melinda Jensen

www.killingmesoftly.co (A blog, at times disturbing, about the effects of emotional, psychological and verbal abuse, it aims to educate, support and empower victims of abuse.)

Writer concerned with social justice, equality, the environment, and mostly the abiding spirit of our glorious God. Currently working on a number of projects, most notably a couple of fantasy novels with environmental themes for middle school readers.