Treasuring Divine Happenstance

Treasuring Divine Happenstance

Last week I shared about why I bought this painting. God had woven together three things: a pregnancy dream, a talk by Ray Hughes about saying “Yes” to God, and the symbolism in the painting. The message?

Continue writing.

Patrisha's painting at the Ray Hughes conference

Patrisha’s painting at the Ray Hughes conference

But a fourth piece to this puzzle remains. I didn’t explain the wave. Did you notice the wave coming over the land and not the sea? In mountainous areas like Montana, massive waters like a sea or an ocean don’t exist.

To complete the story of this encounter with God, I have to give you another piece of divine happenstance. Soon after finishing my first book, I had another vivid dream:

I am crossing a landscape scarred by a hurricane long ago. Wreckage is strewn about in all directions as far as the eye can see. Jagged planks of lumber, shattered window frames, pieces of boats, empty cans, broken wooden chairs, driftwood, shells and other rubble fill every square foot of land. Any stench is long gone, and the debris looks clean—whitened by the sun.

I carefully step over the wreckage, making my way toward a beautiful azure sea that is a mile out. I can see the thin strip of deep blue water on the horizon. The sky is crisp and clear with no hint of haze. A few lovely white clouds dapple the atmosphere.

This picture is as close as I could find, but doesn’t quite capture the miles of sun-bleached remains.

This picture is as close as I could find, but doesn’t quite capture the miles of sun-bleached wreckage.

Way out in front of me, I notice one other person. It’s Kathy Tyers, my first writing mentor. She seems to be making the same trek. She gestures dramatically, waving a complete sweep of her arm again and again, as if to say, “Come on, Susan! Keep going! Don’t give up! Follow me!” But she’s so far ahead, I can’t hear her voice.

It could take awhile to get there. I continue, step by step.

All of a sudden, I hear a faraway low rumble. Perhaps a plane is taking off. It starts to increase in volume. Something powerful begins to roar—a noise so loud it sounds like several planes, then 100 planes, and now 1,000 airplanes taking off all at once. The ground vibrates in violent unison, as I look backwards…Continue reading

Saying Yes

Saying Yes

“I don’t know Who—or what—put the question.

I don’t know when it was put.

I don’t even remember answering.

But at some moment I did answer Yes to Someone—or Something

and from that hour

I was certain that existence is meaningful and that, therefore,

my life, in self-surrender, had a goal.”

 —Dag Hammarskjold, Markings

In my teen years and early twenties, Dag Hammarskjold’s book, Markings, captivated me. I found it in my grandmother’s library. She was an evolved woman for her time. Beautiful, smart, articulate, and full of the Holy Spirit—she was really something. My grandfather left love notes in her Bible, addressing her as “Myrtle, my queen.” Above is a photo of my grandparents when they worked in New Delhi India, after the Gandhi years.

I think what moved me about my grandmother and also Hammarskjold was their capacity to talk or write about things in a real way. Not many in their generation did.

Perhaps that’s why J.D. Salinger’s, The Catcher in the Rye, exploded on the literary scene in 1951, because few had written so honestly.

Wikipedia says, Salinger’s book still sells a quarter of a million copies every year and has been translated into nearly all the world’s major languages. “The novel deals with complex issues of identity, belonging, connection and alienation.” Not that we’ve ever needed more icons of teenage rebellion. But most people want more honesty.

It’s also why I like Don Miller’s writing voice and his breakout book, Blue Like Jazz: Non-Religious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality.  The subtitle alone hooked me. I crave authenticity.

And that craving inspired me to write, Closer Than Your Skin. I didn’t have an appetite to write a pedantic, preachy kind of non-fiction book. That would be “drivel” as one editor put it. I wanted to write honestly about the Christian journey and mostly talk about a real God—not knowledge, theology, or platitudes but tangible encounters.

Experiencing God begins with saying, “Yes.” It began that way for me, and it can begin that way for you. Hopefully it already has.

Patrisha doing her thing

Patrisha doing her thing

Let me share one of my “yes” encounters.

Ray Hughes spoke at a Bozeman conference in July 2009. My friend Patrisha Gazy, a prophetic artist, was asked to paint. During the worship time, she started working on a large canvas up near the stage.

At that time in my life, my book had been published and in stores for 19 months. I’d also completed a 34-cities, 55-events, book tour that I paid for and organized. It took a ton of time and energy and was a financial risk. By God’s grace, book sales paid for it in the end.

My editor encouraged me to write another book—maybe a novel this time. Are you kidding? A prophetic lady I met on the tour prophesied that I would write many books. (BTW, there are two other prolific authors named, “Susan Hill,” both from England—maybe she confused me with them!)

The truth? I couldn’t even imagine it. I was tired.

So God decided to approach the subject in a different way, and one night I had a dream.Continue reading

The Eyes of the Spirit

The Eyes of the Spirit

Imagine an intoxicatingly beautiful day. Bright blue sky, lush green woods, and the dark glassy water of the French River in Ontario. In this scene, I am standing on the Pine Cove Road.

As a child, I can remember the electric thrill I felt when our car turned onto the Pine Cove Road. With all its curves and slopes, it was enough to make you carsick. But that didn’t matter. After a 500-mile trip, it meant we were only a few miles from our destination: Crayhaven—our family cabins on the French River, built by my mother’s parents in 1938.

So picture me standing on a particular curve of that very road. My father and mother are next to me. My sister and brother too. Cousins, Sue and Rick, are nearby, soaking in the soft sunlight. Other cousins, Mary and Cliff, are strolling up the road toward us.

My dad hand-signals all of us to gather close. We wait until Mary and Cliff join our circle. Great emotion sweeps over my father’s face. His eyes fill with tears, his lips tremble a little. After a minute of labored breath, he manages to speak.

“This is the last time…” He winces. A tear rolls down his cheek. “…The last time we will all be here together.” It is a solemn moment. We’ve shared decades of history in our little cabins there. A rush of sorrow and gratitude flood my soul.

Then the dream ended, and I woke up.

Some would call this a “now” message from God. The dream wasn’t surreal like some Alice-in-Wonderland fantasy. The scene involved an actual place I can pinpoint. I knew all the people, and each one looked exactly like they do in real life. It was vividly detailed and in color. And if you’ve read Chapter 10 in my book, you’ll know just how much our summers at Crayhaven mean to me.

I had this dream in the spring of 2009. Several months later, my mother enjoyed what would be her last summer at Crayhaven. She left us the following year.

photo

As it turned out, Cliff passed away too.

Why did God tell me in advance? Continue reading