Whenever I hear the phrase “You are standing on Holy Ground” two thoughts pop into my head. My first thought conjures up the sacred soil encompassing the deep seated roots of the bush that burned without consumption. This anomaly drawing Moses immersed in unanswered questions far beyond a bush unyielding to the roaring blaze; a loving God desirous to capture His son’s attention. His heart yearning to share the secret of a long awaited deliverance, while reminding Moses His intimate knowledge of every injustice and crushing blow dealt by his enemies. Unknowingly these promises were to be fulfilled, God beckoning Moses to unloosen his dusty sandals in order to stand in His Holy presence of destiny.
Secondly, when I’m not thinking about Moses my heart is stirred to sing the beautiful worship song, “We are standing on Holy ground and I know that their are angels all around. Let us praise Jesus now, for we are standing in His presence on Holy ground”.
Lately I have been looking at Holy Ground in a whole new way. The Lord brought this to my attention when I stood on the grass of my childhood home this last December. It was not the first time I was near this house as an adult, for in July 2013 my friends Kelli and Cynthia were kind enough to indulge me on my first birthday without my mama. A trip to my childhood home took precedence over visiting her gravesite for it was too painful, too fresh since her passing away two months earlier; fearing I would throw myself prostate on her grave and weep. The weight and pressure of trying to keep it all together while she was alive was slowly lifting, yet finding myself not quite ready to see what that looked like at her gravesite especially on my birthday. Instead we opted to visit my old neighborhood in Woodstock, Oregon. Taking photos of familiar stomping grounds, including the now outside fenced yard of my childhood home.
There we were, three giggling ladies peering over the current owner’s fence, this no doubt stirred curiosity for it brought out Susan who was inside. She was gracious as we introduced ourselves and explained the reason for the obsession with her home. She happily shared information on the various neighbors I grew up with, while in turn I offered to make some copies of old photos of the home when we lived there.
December 2014 my promise was honored, finding myself swinging open the gate of my childhood home, feeling an overwhelming sense I was standing on Holy Ground. Endearing memories flooded my mind of the activities my family and I had shared there. Like sitting by my brother Troy as we watched the crackling fire my dad tended to on front corner of our lawn.
Playing in our above ground pool in the summer or the coveted mud puddles during winter.
Or the time when a car crashed into Troy’s bedroom; and as unbelievable as it sounds, he remained sound asleep amongst blaring headlights and broken glass. Though there are countless more to share, I will end with one that makes me laugh every time it comes to mind. During one particular blustery winter my mom bundled me up so I could barely move… basically my mommy made me into a Mummy!… Realizing what her zeal to keep me warm had done she commissioned my brother to assist me if I happen to fall and couldn’t get up. Becoming my own personal “Life Alert” system.
Precious memories flashing before my eyes in the midst of my loss… Holy ground of equilibrium where past and present mingled with pain and destiny. The great I AM that is the same yesterday, today and forever… comforting the afflictions of His daughter while promising a new beginning.
I’m not sure where life has you today, however, I do know, whether you are in the lowest valley or on the highest mountain top, God is your deliverer … you my friend are standing on Holy Ground.
“Life is the external text, the burning bush by the edge of the path from which God speaks.” Jose Ortega Gasset .