I feel embattled, as I have this entire day. I want this entry to be insightful while I simultaneously want it to be over. I know that it should be written but I wish I were writing something else. It warrants being written yet I will only be able to touch upon its subject matter. I want this entry to be momentous yet it is about the very moment that it desires to be...
The word 'Kairos' has its origins in Greek. Chronos is the form of time with which we are all so familiar. As my spiritual director said to me Thursday, that kind of time is a "commodity" that we "parcel". I confessed to him that time has become my idol, though I hadn't any clue how that came to be. We agreed to blame society, he and I. Then we started talking about Kairos—the fullness of time. That word has sat on the back of my tongue ever since. I find it an entertaining irony that my entry titled "kairos" seems to be coming at what would seem an inopportune moment—days after this discussion with Gerry.
It will not surprise you that I have chased Chronos. It is the 'American' condition. For too long I have envied those who are much better at that chase than I am: organized, driven, capable of intuiting just how to do something most efficiently. Those visions of perfect chronos management appealed to the perfectionism that had gone to seed in my mind since early school days—quantifiable bench-marks for success. But I failed utterly. I am twenty-four years old with no clear career track, no wife, and an absent-minded nature. If chronos were puss, I am covered with open sores. It oozes out of my skin and I lose it forever.
This concept of Kairos came as a subtle relief to me—and an affirmation of another tendency in myself. Thursday, I left work an hour before my session with Gerry so that I would not be late. Half-way to my destination, I realized how early I was going to be. I thought about time and how it had become my idol. I wondered what I would do, nonetheless, during those extra fifteen minutes. The moment itself was momentous. I climbed from my car and sat on an embankment over-looking a wetland and began to say an open-eyed prayer. I found Kairos—the sense that I was in the right moment doing just as I needed to be doing.
My addiction to chronos continues, though. You readers are spared my long internal monologue about how I spent my time today because it is almost midnight and I know that I cannot fully tackle this. Instead, I want to tease at the beginning of these thoughts—
The image of a boulder in a stream. Gerry said "why don't you plug that image into your mind a few times this week; see what happens." –not knowing that a day will not pass for at least a week without my thinking about that boulder. Upstream is the entirety of my past, down-stream is a bend in the river that I cannot see past. There, on the down-stream side of that boulder RIGHT before the future is a back-eddy where I can put the nose of my kayak and cling to that boulder indefinitely.
The Kairos I found while I researched on the internet is about seizing a moment but the Kairos Gerry was speaking to me about is like that boulder in the stream. He keeps stressing "being" as opposed to "doing." So, perhaps I was right to drink whiskey and watch "Rush Hour II" on Thursday night, rather than seize the moment (perhaps not) because this thought carries on and to fold-it-up neatly in a journal entry would not bring it to life as I had hoped.
"Whenever something happens or you have a thought, John, I notice that you feel compelled to do something with it. That's not necessarily bad but... do you think it is okay to just take the experience in and then let it go? There is worth in that, too..."
As I often say in my hand-written journal (when I get to it) 'many thoughts'. Kairos is just one dimension of 'Waiting'. My mind is splitting in eight different directions again, trying to do something with all of my complex thoughts and emotions.
When Gerry mentioned the boulder, he was not trying to describe Kairos. He was trying to get me to stop being completely absorbed with either my thoughts or emotions, running back and forth between them. He is trying to get me to dwell inside my soul.
I am afraid I have left more questions instead of answers. As I said, I think I would rather be writing something else—so when will that occur? Perhaps that time is nearing.
*unsatisfied*
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Resting—with a purpose
*turns on some Orange County Supertones*
Pardon my west-side jamming—I think I was already sliding away from tonight's revelations. I needed a little musical lift via my old favorites. While I am struggling, I think I will look one of my issues in the face: I don't believe my Dad when he tells me nice things. I think he wants to maintain my attention and affection but his credibility was so damaged by lying to my mother that I cannot seem to find any encouragement from his words—even if some deep part of me knows that my Real Father wants me to see why I am special.
That leads me to the question of who my Real Father is—because as a Christian I officially believe that God Himself is my Father by adoption. Jesus signed the papers in blood, so to speak. Such sayings have been mostly just talk lately... up until a week ago today. My musings about Spiritual life are slowly deepening to the heart-level as I move slowly with God through time. Just now, though, I did seriously question if I was living like a Son of God. I don't mean in terms of sin and not-sin... I mean attitude. That's an unanswered question...
[Resting]
Because of my need for rest this very night, I will try to hit the highlights. The day actually began on a seeming 'low-light'. Last week, God awoke me ready to worship. Today, I woke-up in a seeming SNAFU... shutting my alarm off and sleeping an extra hour. Rather than putting in extra time at work I ran the course of my eight-hour day and returned to the domicile. While I was at work, though, God hint-dropped. I'm embarrassed to say that I follow Rick Warren's twitter-feed~ God did give him the gift of one-liners. He's also a symbol of the GOOD in people that I have for too long presumed to be a rot on the church (it's a complex thought with a long history—megachurches and pop-spirituality are things of which I am suspicious). But I will quit blathering: Rick said that resting in the Lord's presence was not a sign of laziness but a sign of faith. I considered that and found that I really struggled with the notion of such rest. Part of that might be because time became my idol.
Fast-forward. Literally; I decided the day was too beautiful to not go for a long run. I ran for almost forty minutes and nearly completed my route. The run itself had some redeeming emotional components but the significant part about the run was that it utterly wasted my body. I returned a piece of wreckage with no time to consume any food before worship. I cleaned-up and grabbed my trumpet, all the while worried about being late and having enough time to assimilate myself into the praise band that had not e-mailed me. Driving over, I muttered an apologetic prayer to God~ apologized for running for too long and possibly missing my chance to exercise the ONE gift I am sure about: worship.
God must have been shaking his/her head, wondering when I would get it. My prayers worked in my favor in spite of my conscious thoughts. I prayed that God would just shut-me-up and show me something new. "Just shut-me-up, God..." That is exactly what happened by the end of the night. As I hauled my heavy trumpet case inside, I crossed my fingers and remembered what God said to Paul: "My grace is sufficient for you; my strength is made perfect in your weakness". With no food and tired legs, I certainly felt weak.
Before the service, I had just enough time to say hello to someone I met the other weekend. Her name is Jenna. Jenna said she was pumped for worship. I said that I was too but I needed a moment to recover from my run; I felt silly for pointing-out my weakness. Then, the very words I needed came across her lips. "Just rest in God! You should just rest and soak-up worship. Lay on the floor if you need to—I give you permission." BOOM: I remembered what Rick Warren tweeted.
The Almighty Coach was asking me to sit on the bench and learn something new about worship.
Embracing that rest seemed too easy at first blush—like laziness. But the Holy Spirit had already dropped a hint and, frankly, obeying that inkling sounded like a really good idea. Mike got-up and said something about how God doesn't just bless us so we can bless others but also because he loves us and wants us to be blessed. That was it. I was sold: I took a position on the floor, legs crossed and hands palm-up. I'll confess, I sang some improvised harmony from the floor. At the same time, I reminded myself that worship was not about performance—a tough lesson for one who sees himself as a performer. Sitting on my butt and shutting-up turns out to be a vital part of developing my gift of worship. Why? Because my actions are usually dependent on pre-conceived expectations, not on obedience in the present. Honestly, I still have doubts about the human ability to have such an obedience... but I gave it a good shot tonight. I even took my sandals off. Freedom.
Obeying that command meant acting in ways that I would normally label irreverent and wondering if other people thought I was being disrespectful. I SO wanted to whisper in James's ear "hey, bro, I'm not trying to thumb my nose at your message—God told me to lay-out and just trust Him, so..." Interestingly, there was a point in the service when everyone came forward and stood in front of the stage. I continued sitting. When the songs ended, they returned to their seats—I laid-down. Then, James asked us to come forward to the alter. I stood... but no one else did. I closed my eyes and prayed. I don't know how long I was standing there and no one said anything. It was a valuable lesson: the world didn't come crashing down. No one screamed "hey, why are you standing there?" –best of all, I wasn't sitting in a chair wondering "Does God want me to stand?" I already knew the answer—"just don't worry about what other people see".
The most interesting and challenging part of the evening was when we raised-up the issue of abortion to God. I am pro-lifer with no reservations, yet I also have a history of being frustrated with pro-life movements. It is a crack in my spiritual armor, for sure—a place where dark feelings get in. I feel, almost beyond doubt, that abortions are not just a matter of preference and so I become conflicted about some of the anti-abortion rhetoric. Raising a child is a huge responsibility and I see the children of single-parent households all the time. Some turn-out alright, others mediocre and some delinquent. Choosing life is much bigger than taking care of a baby—it's starting someone's life prematurely just as much as ending it against their will. I would like to eliminate unwanted pregnancies outside of wedlock altogether... but all kinds of factors drive people into one another's beds. While I am thinking these thoughts, some of my more conservative brethren are passing the mic, saying their prayers.
A voice piped-up from inside: "Quit being critical; man-up, take the mic and pray for all those outside factors... the poverty, the addiction, the insecurity that drives us into each other's beds... quit being the skeptic on the side-lines and challenge the Church to take a broader approach—" So, I did as I felt was right—abortion is wrong and a deep hurt. I prayed that we would also be able to address the hurts that under-gird it. I hope we can take those into consideration, too. I think that the Church can create the family structure those kids need... if we can find them.
Anyway...
I said a prayer and then decided that it was finally time to grab the trumpet and worship in the way I believed I was intended to worship.
No mouth-piece. Something (Someone) had inspired me to take JUST my mouthpiece to the park yesterday for a nice, cleansing buzz. I left the mouthpiece in my book-bag, leaving me with three mouth-pieces that were not going to work-out so well (why do I have them? *ponders*). Instead, I laughed and shut the case, already getting dizzy from lack of food. I did some singing and resisted the temptation to leave prematurely. I was glad I took even more time to just worship—no watch, no shoes, no cares beyond my aching tummy.
Afterward, I ran into Jenna (and Mike). She said that it was kind of awesome to see me just resting in God's presence. God must have turned her attention to that—and that's okay. While I was taking time away from my own worshipping I was able to use my worship gift in reverse by appreciating the heart with which other people were worshipping. In the past, that kind of worship left me feeling a little awkward. Now, I think I might like to see more of other people worshipping... and feel more connected with their worship. Radical? I know... I haven't even worked all the way through it yet. Good thing we're doing this every week...
Spending some time on the bench is an experience I cannot say enough about because it flipped my script in some key ways. Usually, I want to be the main-actor in my own life yet trying to focus my energies on someone else so I can feel altruistic. God turned that on its head in the best way possible. It was as if God said "No no... we're going to focus on YOUR need..." –and at the same time, the experience of healing became more about what other people than my own gifts. I took a backseat and God was still using that—my obedience was a testimony, even in its unspectacular laziness. Plus, I could not have said anything about the social causes/consequences of abortion with a hunk of metal shoved against my lips (like I had envisioned). I am more than a trumpet—and I'm interested to see how God will show that by NOT allowing me to be Superman. Ironic.
Being benched was also significant because I did not give a 'starter' performance this past week. I came face to face with both my desire to be admired by a woman and, simultaneously, the degree to which I am capable of being superficial in those encounters. I hate saying that on the internet—someone fantastic might read that and know I'm not ready for a relationship. However... whether I am ready or not is God's province right now. No joke. The bottom-line is that I felt like I failed to be a Son of God to someone who had admired me (only to find-out I had some shallowness to deal with).
Nonetheless, I am actually brought back to the real moment this God-experience began, though I did not know it: when I was buzzing my mouthpiece by the Grand River last night. I got a phone call from the same young-lady who I... offended. What her motives for calling were, I can only guess. She pointed-out that there were some things in my apology e-mail that might indicate I was a bad person—but that she didn't want to say anything about them because it would mean she was a pretty bad person, too. She said something about how we're all bad people, really, and sinful.
--and I dared to protest. I said that maybe she was a good person and so was I—and that the sin was just on-top, spoiling the beautiful people that God made. Actually, I didn't say it so well in the moment... but I meant it. I don't think either of us has to keep being a bad person when Grace is available... nor should one of us treat the other like they are "toxic" or even "sinful". That's not a good way to be encouraging.
For now, though, I consider myself 'on the bench'—but not kicked-off the team at all.
Pardon my west-side jamming—I think I was already sliding away from tonight's revelations. I needed a little musical lift via my old favorites. While I am struggling, I think I will look one of my issues in the face: I don't believe my Dad when he tells me nice things. I think he wants to maintain my attention and affection but his credibility was so damaged by lying to my mother that I cannot seem to find any encouragement from his words—even if some deep part of me knows that my Real Father wants me to see why I am special.
That leads me to the question of who my Real Father is—because as a Christian I officially believe that God Himself is my Father by adoption. Jesus signed the papers in blood, so to speak. Such sayings have been mostly just talk lately... up until a week ago today. My musings about Spiritual life are slowly deepening to the heart-level as I move slowly with God through time. Just now, though, I did seriously question if I was living like a Son of God. I don't mean in terms of sin and not-sin... I mean attitude. That's an unanswered question...
[Resting]
Because of my need for rest this very night, I will try to hit the highlights. The day actually began on a seeming 'low-light'. Last week, God awoke me ready to worship. Today, I woke-up in a seeming SNAFU... shutting my alarm off and sleeping an extra hour. Rather than putting in extra time at work I ran the course of my eight-hour day and returned to the domicile. While I was at work, though, God hint-dropped. I'm embarrassed to say that I follow Rick Warren's twitter-feed~ God did give him the gift of one-liners. He's also a symbol of the GOOD in people that I have for too long presumed to be a rot on the church (it's a complex thought with a long history—megachurches and pop-spirituality are things of which I am suspicious). But I will quit blathering: Rick said that resting in the Lord's presence was not a sign of laziness but a sign of faith. I considered that and found that I really struggled with the notion of such rest. Part of that might be because time became my idol.
Fast-forward. Literally; I decided the day was too beautiful to not go for a long run. I ran for almost forty minutes and nearly completed my route. The run itself had some redeeming emotional components but the significant part about the run was that it utterly wasted my body. I returned a piece of wreckage with no time to consume any food before worship. I cleaned-up and grabbed my trumpet, all the while worried about being late and having enough time to assimilate myself into the praise band that had not e-mailed me. Driving over, I muttered an apologetic prayer to God~ apologized for running for too long and possibly missing my chance to exercise the ONE gift I am sure about: worship.
God must have been shaking his/her head, wondering when I would get it. My prayers worked in my favor in spite of my conscious thoughts. I prayed that God would just shut-me-up and show me something new. "Just shut-me-up, God..." That is exactly what happened by the end of the night. As I hauled my heavy trumpet case inside, I crossed my fingers and remembered what God said to Paul: "My grace is sufficient for you; my strength is made perfect in your weakness". With no food and tired legs, I certainly felt weak.
Before the service, I had just enough time to say hello to someone I met the other weekend. Her name is Jenna. Jenna said she was pumped for worship. I said that I was too but I needed a moment to recover from my run; I felt silly for pointing-out my weakness. Then, the very words I needed came across her lips. "Just rest in God! You should just rest and soak-up worship. Lay on the floor if you need to—I give you permission." BOOM: I remembered what Rick Warren tweeted.
The Almighty Coach was asking me to sit on the bench and learn something new about worship.
Embracing that rest seemed too easy at first blush—like laziness. But the Holy Spirit had already dropped a hint and, frankly, obeying that inkling sounded like a really good idea. Mike got-up and said something about how God doesn't just bless us so we can bless others but also because he loves us and wants us to be blessed. That was it. I was sold: I took a position on the floor, legs crossed and hands palm-up. I'll confess, I sang some improvised harmony from the floor. At the same time, I reminded myself that worship was not about performance—a tough lesson for one who sees himself as a performer. Sitting on my butt and shutting-up turns out to be a vital part of developing my gift of worship. Why? Because my actions are usually dependent on pre-conceived expectations, not on obedience in the present. Honestly, I still have doubts about the human ability to have such an obedience... but I gave it a good shot tonight. I even took my sandals off. Freedom.
Obeying that command meant acting in ways that I would normally label irreverent and wondering if other people thought I was being disrespectful. I SO wanted to whisper in James's ear "hey, bro, I'm not trying to thumb my nose at your message—God told me to lay-out and just trust Him, so..." Interestingly, there was a point in the service when everyone came forward and stood in front of the stage. I continued sitting. When the songs ended, they returned to their seats—I laid-down. Then, James asked us to come forward to the alter. I stood... but no one else did. I closed my eyes and prayed. I don't know how long I was standing there and no one said anything. It was a valuable lesson: the world didn't come crashing down. No one screamed "hey, why are you standing there?" –best of all, I wasn't sitting in a chair wondering "Does God want me to stand?" I already knew the answer—"just don't worry about what other people see".
The most interesting and challenging part of the evening was when we raised-up the issue of abortion to God. I am pro-lifer with no reservations, yet I also have a history of being frustrated with pro-life movements. It is a crack in my spiritual armor, for sure—a place where dark feelings get in. I feel, almost beyond doubt, that abortions are not just a matter of preference and so I become conflicted about some of the anti-abortion rhetoric. Raising a child is a huge responsibility and I see the children of single-parent households all the time. Some turn-out alright, others mediocre and some delinquent. Choosing life is much bigger than taking care of a baby—it's starting someone's life prematurely just as much as ending it against their will. I would like to eliminate unwanted pregnancies outside of wedlock altogether... but all kinds of factors drive people into one another's beds. While I am thinking these thoughts, some of my more conservative brethren are passing the mic, saying their prayers.
A voice piped-up from inside: "Quit being critical; man-up, take the mic and pray for all those outside factors... the poverty, the addiction, the insecurity that drives us into each other's beds... quit being the skeptic on the side-lines and challenge the Church to take a broader approach—" So, I did as I felt was right—abortion is wrong and a deep hurt. I prayed that we would also be able to address the hurts that under-gird it. I hope we can take those into consideration, too. I think that the Church can create the family structure those kids need... if we can find them.
Anyway...
I said a prayer and then decided that it was finally time to grab the trumpet and worship in the way I believed I was intended to worship.
No mouth-piece. Something (Someone) had inspired me to take JUST my mouthpiece to the park yesterday for a nice, cleansing buzz. I left the mouthpiece in my book-bag, leaving me with three mouth-pieces that were not going to work-out so well (why do I have them? *ponders*). Instead, I laughed and shut the case, already getting dizzy from lack of food. I did some singing and resisted the temptation to leave prematurely. I was glad I took even more time to just worship—no watch, no shoes, no cares beyond my aching tummy.
Afterward, I ran into Jenna (and Mike). She said that it was kind of awesome to see me just resting in God's presence. God must have turned her attention to that—and that's okay. While I was taking time away from my own worshipping I was able to use my worship gift in reverse by appreciating the heart with which other people were worshipping. In the past, that kind of worship left me feeling a little awkward. Now, I think I might like to see more of other people worshipping... and feel more connected with their worship. Radical? I know... I haven't even worked all the way through it yet. Good thing we're doing this every week...
Spending some time on the bench is an experience I cannot say enough about because it flipped my script in some key ways. Usually, I want to be the main-actor in my own life yet trying to focus my energies on someone else so I can feel altruistic. God turned that on its head in the best way possible. It was as if God said "No no... we're going to focus on YOUR need..." –and at the same time, the experience of healing became more about what other people than my own gifts. I took a backseat and God was still using that—my obedience was a testimony, even in its unspectacular laziness. Plus, I could not have said anything about the social causes/consequences of abortion with a hunk of metal shoved against my lips (like I had envisioned). I am more than a trumpet—and I'm interested to see how God will show that by NOT allowing me to be Superman. Ironic.
Being benched was also significant because I did not give a 'starter' performance this past week. I came face to face with both my desire to be admired by a woman and, simultaneously, the degree to which I am capable of being superficial in those encounters. I hate saying that on the internet—someone fantastic might read that and know I'm not ready for a relationship. However... whether I am ready or not is God's province right now. No joke. The bottom-line is that I felt like I failed to be a Son of God to someone who had admired me (only to find-out I had some shallowness to deal with).
Nonetheless, I am actually brought back to the real moment this God-experience began, though I did not know it: when I was buzzing my mouthpiece by the Grand River last night. I got a phone call from the same young-lady who I... offended. What her motives for calling were, I can only guess. She pointed-out that there were some things in my apology e-mail that might indicate I was a bad person—but that she didn't want to say anything about them because it would mean she was a pretty bad person, too. She said something about how we're all bad people, really, and sinful.
--and I dared to protest. I said that maybe she was a good person and so was I—and that the sin was just on-top, spoiling the beautiful people that God made. Actually, I didn't say it so well in the moment... but I meant it. I don't think either of us has to keep being a bad person when Grace is available... nor should one of us treat the other like they are "toxic" or even "sinful". That's not a good way to be encouraging.
For now, though, I consider myself 'on the bench'—but not kicked-off the team at all.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Send Revival
I thought I might start this entry with an apt piece of scripture. Instead, I am going to testify in my own voice. Not only that, I am not going to account for my absence from blogging. I may not even be able to highlight every relationship: all the connections God had been making suddenly lit-up like Christmas lights. Let the dance begin...
It may have started with some prophetic words from my therapist last Friday. I told Dr. Lennox Forrest that I wanted to get out of my own head—that I needed other people to pray for and care about. Lennox smiled and gave a gentle nod. "Messiah," he said "will no doubt send people into your life to care about if you ask." Someday, I should regale you readers of my mental/spiritual health journey—of Pastor Joyce, Dr. Forrest and a guy named Jerry who I've seen just once (oh, and Charlie Farnum—which is worth a grin for those who know him). It suffices to say, Lennox is not like many therapists... and it almost scared me away a few months ago...
Of course, I knew there were going to be SOME new people in my life: I joined Grand Rapids Christian Connect on Facebook. I met James, Mike, Sarah, Ruth, Leah and many others this past Saturday during an extensive evening. We ate at the twisted chicken and then went and hung-out. I almost did not go—thinking my time might be better spent working on my résumé (which remains unfinished and far from reaching a distant coast). Socializing was not a bad choice, for me. However, that was not what Lennox meant.
He probably meant some strange person who offered to have my children if I made her a taco... or something like that... I might have to gloss over that business for now since I have important testimony to get to... (Frank: One would hope you return to that story! Sheesh!)
It was definitely under-way by Sunday morning, but it did not exactly feel that way at first. We (Plainfield United Methodist, just to refresh your memories) had our outdoor worship at Huff park. A few months ago, I eyed that date with eager anticipation, imagining the sound of trumpet echoing through nearby swamps. Instead, I had a bad-embouchure week and failed to practice for the service. I showed-up and decided to exercise a different gift: helps. I carried equipment, caught the Pastor's notes when the wind blew them off the stand and... led the singing. Later, Jen mentioned that she might like us to sing harmony some time and, for the first time, I realized that my singing was not just a substitute for playing. Yet, like I said to Joyce before the service "I suppose this is a chance for God to show me I'm made of more than music..." Make no mistakes, though: I am built to Worship. That's no boast... it just is...
After our picnic, I called-out the Bingo numbers. Everyone playing bingo had a wonderful time and I was able to put-away my idol: the clock. I let the time pass and enjoyed the weather. Long after we had left the park, I realized that I had forgotten something important: my bag with the Bible and harmonica in it. 1) I seem to have misplaced my other Bible, as well—no Good book 2) the harmonica was my grandfather's. He passed away this April.
Tuesday, I finally hit the end of my rope. Tired from late-night discussions, numbed by the ambiguities of my job, I made my daily pilgrimage to river-side park and started to play. Even after a thorough-cleaning, my trumpeting still lacked the clarity I desired. The fuzziness was all in me. I tried to push through it to the other side~ and in small ways I felt myself succeeding. In the end, I knew what I thirsted for: BIBLE. Not in the sense that I should read my Bible (because by that time I knew it was in the church office, ready for me) but in the sense that I truly desired to connect with God via scripture. I also knew I was being an ass: I felt a pull toward the Christian bookstore to buy a new Bible but I was letting the money and the time it takes to make a trip prevent me from going. I also hadn't had a devo in a few days.
This is the part where it starts to become obvious. Now, I do not mean to sum up my entire belief system in this entry—or even imply that it is a static set of beliefs. However, I should mention that I think God is present in all things and at all times – I call it the metanatural and I believe it moves at faster than the speed of light. To me, the supernatural is when the metanatural moves in ways that defy normal and reveal truth in the natural universe. I don't believe that supernatural and natural differ in their origins at all—only in their purpose: the steady and regular versus the sanctified and ceremonial. Something unexpectedly Holy happened after I brought home my new New Living Translation. First of all... it's a cute little blue Bible! I love it! But seriously... I opened up my devotion and the suggested scripture was Corinthians 13 (Paul's take on love). That got my attention: "By God's will (I believe, putting skepticism away), the first verse I read in my new Bible is about Love." It reminded me of my first week as a Kinawind counselor, which is another long story.
Yet, God's sense of humor does not stop there. I felt compelled to do two devos. The scripture for the second one was Proverbs 16. Ringing any bells? Check out my facebook profile—it's the first quotation on my wall (and will remain so forever, now...). "Wow... double-play..." It was then that I started to feel a profound peace. I had been so quick to pick-up the Bible that I did not even bother to look at its theme. God had: a 'living water' Bible. I was thirsty, remember? God was faithful. Apparently, God idiot-proofed my trip to the bookstore... more on my cool new Bible at another time.
...meanwhile, the plot thickens with taco-girl... what is going on?!?! *clears throat*
However, August 18th 2010 seems to be have been a consecrated day from inception. Again, I want to stress who I have been. I have a gift of wisdom and knowledge, the sharp-edge of which is analysis and even skepticism. To be impressed with these phenomena, I have to be caught with my guard down—I am not proud of this. This morning, I was completely taken from the moment I awakened. You see, almost every morning I have awakened in this apartment since that first drab November day has been a chore. I will raise you another sad fact: the preceding two mornings, I do not even recall shutting off my alarm and returning to bed. I know that I set the alarm but my sub-conscious learned to diffuse it without bringing me fully to consciousness. When I reached full consciousness today...
...I was dancing to "Go Go Go" by the Orange County Supertones, reminiscent of my days as a fifteen year-old. I mean, I was up and going and making my bed for the first time in a month just jamming to the music. I wondered how I could shut that music off every single morning. I knew right then that this day was going to be miraculous. You see, I also have the gift of miracles... it's really hard to use with the gift of Wisdom because I'm skeptical. When I had begun to eat, I remembered that tonight was going to be the first Grand Rapids Christian Connect Worship Night. "Okay, God... you are definitely cross-referencing: I am made to worship. Let's go..."
Work was a little less blah. I was able to be thankful for my perks, rather than feeling guilty about them. Who would not be thankful for the gift of Christian McBride, Branford Marsalis and others over Pandora radio? I did some laminating and was content to be working with my hands more than with my mind. Even better, I got to joke-around with officer Bob:
Bob:"Who was that blonde from yesterday?"
Me: *hesistates and thinks of taco girl, then remembers* "Oh! She's going to be the new intern. We interviewed her yesterday and she did well."
"Alright! Yeah...woo!"
"Woo! You crack me up, Bob..."
Where was I?
...3 mile road was closed for repairs. I had to double-back on highway 96. My idol came-out to haunt me as I lamented the wasted time and motion. Then, God came to say hello—sitting on a sign-post for Leonard street.
"Hi, God... good to see you. I guess this means I am exactly where I am supposed to be."
For those of you who do not know, God likes to visit me in the form of hawks (if I had a 'Spirit Animal', it would be a bird of prey). I know, in my mind, that red-tail hawks frequent highways as a source of carrion. Yet, they time themselves so well that I cannot help but believe that they are driven there by that metanatural Hand. I attached a cheesy lesson to it: "I guess this was a God-ordained detour—if only this entire Grand Rapids trip could be so blessed. If only my NEXT adventure were so blessed. Where am I going?" –but I wrestled free from that reverie.
Sunshine church has a big sanctuary, set into the ground like a theater. You enter at the top and descend toward a stage. The band was already setting-up and I did not dare talk to them. Instead, I found a familiar face and said hello before entering into some light prayer. After ten minutes, I caught myself glancing at my watch, noticing it was past time. About that time, I made eye-contact with a man. I thought something might have passed between but, as I am learning, discernment is not my gift. I saw that his name was Jeremy, so when he introduced himself I wondered if he was the same Jeremy that conducted the worship band and if James had said something about my desire to play. No. He was another Jeremy—and confessed plainly that he had been blessed with the gift of prophesy and had seen this kind of worship coming in a dream. The statement struck me as odd, but my own miraculous morning caused me to reign in my skepticism. For the first time in my in-real-time life, I accepted that someone else might have a perceptive ability that I simply would never have. Academically, I never denied it. Yet in the moment, I had to accept and appreciate that what this guy told me was not a delusion. FAITH.
Unsurprisingly, I accepted the invitation to come forward and worship close to the stage. Without my trumpet, I decided to let my voice do what my trumpet might. Good news and bad news: The style of worship was perfect for improvising and experimenting in exactly the style that I am most gifted in—but my voice is untrained and so I had to get-over being on-key. Yet, I was impressed with how I was able to get over that (probably with Help). I figured "I need to express freely with my voice while I have the chance—" –and it felt right. I asked God over and over again "Let me be part of this worship!" while thinking all the while "I am so selfish... I love to entertain... am I doing this for the wrong reasons?"
But my big challenge was to come while Mike and James were speaking, not while we were singing. I sang my heart-out and was SURE that I wanted to continue coming AND be part of worship. So certain. Then, Mike got up to speak and opened his mouth...
I am not going to take apart the sermon. To summarize, I found it redundant and awkward in places... while simultaneously I saw the truth in it. In other words, I sat and stewed in cognitive dissonance for the duration of his sermon while I listened to him tell us how we could call ourselves righteous. Mike is kind of... well... a bragger; I found some things he said to be prideful—which reminded me of something I heard CS Lewis said about those with terrible pride finding pride so easily in others. Still, God uses all kinds. Obviously, the entire sermon set ushered in a period of spiritual warfare for me—especially the part where he admonished us to listen to the people who God has sent and not be critical. Criticism is practically my gift—there has to be accountability. Yet, simultaneously, he was telling me things I NEEDED to hear—about love, faith, forgiveness. My inner-opposition baffled me, though I should not be so surprised that I felt it. The same thing happened when James got up to speak: my idol started pestering me. I wanted to leave and come back to my safe bubble (talk to taco girl, whatever...). When they asked for money, I was fully in the enemies grip. I waved-off the offering bucket, slouched in my chair, waiting for the worship team to resume. James spoke about purpose and gifts and... things that I knew were relevant. At the same time, my own pride was raging. I was trying to think of reasons why I should not sit there and listen to a couple of guys who had never even been fully through seminary speak. I knew I was getting what I needed. I had to shove my watch in my pocket just to stand it. At the end, the guys apologized and reassured us that they had not meant for it to go so long. My ambivalence reached its height as they called forward their prayer-team. 'Oh, a prayer-team...' I thought 'well, isn't that special—'.
We were actually dismissed at this point. I could have walked-out then. I could have not come at all, really, and spent time writing stuff to impress... people. The World around me. Then, a seed that Charlie helped plant came to bud. I have been reading a book about spiritual gifts and gift-areas. When I took the assessment at the beginning of the book, it indicated that I was strong in knowledge (very strong), somewhat weak in Spirit power (disappointing, because that's the cool part), and pretty dismal in commitment. I blamed my lack of commitment on the paucity of suitable opportunities to be committed to. "I could just keep playing for Plainfield UMC and not be here for so long on Wednesdays..." I said to myself, ignoring the power I had felt in worship.
Then, I made a conscious decision to go against my nature. I decided that I was going to be prayed over, even though I had been prayed-over in church services before—usually with pleasant but somewhat ambiguous results. Yet, I decided that my musical/skeptical ASS was going to stick with these Wednesday services for at least a while and learn what there was to learn. In an uncharacteristic spurt of discipline, I recognized that I was being ridiculous.
I bypassed Mike and James and introduced myself to another member of the prayer team. His name was Elijah. ... ...let that ruminate, those of you with some Bible knowledge:
"Hi, I'm Elijah..."
"Hi, I'm John..."
"...the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: prepare ye the way for the Lord!"
"'...but Elijah has already come and they would not listen to him'. He was referring to John the Baptist."
---I didn't think about any of this—that's part of the miracle, naturally. My reaction was to shake his hand and give him a hug. I am a touchy-feely guy and apparently so was Elijah. I told him I was going to be looking for a new job soon and that I wanted to bring the Lord deeper into my heart. He put his hand on my shoulder and I put my hand on his and he started to pray for me. *tears filling John's eyes*
Oh yes. How do I even begin?... because this prayer is the entire reason for the whole entry.
Let's toss-out the elephant in the room: it feels nice to be embraced by another human-being these days. It's not a sexual thing at all—I felt warm just because I was sharing a bond of trust and compassion with a brother in Christ. His exact words, in their entirety, escape me—
I remember getting the sense that I should let my own hand drop to my side. It was like a vibe I was getting and I just went with it. *brief reminder tingle* The prayer started generic, speaking to the issues I had raised. That was as I expected—but I let my expectations start to slip away. *another reminder tingle*. A crescendo began. At first he asked God to reassure me that I did have gifts and that I was called *stronger reminder tingle—I swear, these didn't start until I began to write about THIS*. Then he said something about a 'new revelation—I caught the muted pun on my name (John wrote Revelation, according to tradition) but I just 'knew' that it was beyond the point. *more tingles* The lovely tingle of the Spirit started to come over me, first emanating from the point where Elijah's hand touched John's shoulder. The prayers got really specific and really apt quickly. Out of the blue, he started praying healing on my family—for broken relationships and illness (I'll take divorce and cancer for 1000, Alex). The tingling was spreading and I knew it was the Holy Spirit at work (plus, it feels Divine—in the gooooood way, like a massage), reassuring me. My skeptic side might have discarded his words as freak coincidence but my BODY would not deny that the real, Living, Holy Ghost was *tingle* choosing that moment as sanctified. After almost walking-away, all of my slouching, etc the Spirit was upon me. He also mentioned something about the importance of names, and made allusions to John the Baptist and John the Apostle. I bought it—the flipping Spirit of God was all over me at that point. It got better, too...
...there was a prophesy. Elijah said that I just needed to be faithful in the small things. *tingle* He told me if I was faithful in the small things, God would show me a big-thing (which is scriptural, as well). Elijah said that God would "blow my mind...". All of which was still carrying the possibility of doubt. Are you ready, readers? You know my weaknesses: my own intellect. Both Mike and James had alluded to our sub-conscious traps—my skeptical heart was in evidence. This is the good part:
Instinctively, Elijah moved his hand off of my shoulder and onto my head. That was when all doubt was erased. He started to pray about my doubts and skepticism—prayed for my sub-conscious mind to be healed. The exact words escape me because I cannot get past (and am still tingling on account of) the feeling of the Holy Spirit surging up my spine and literally touching my brain. The experience of joy during worship—that could have been emotional contagion. The tingling in my shoulder? Contact from another. But the sparks in my brain, the uncanny perceptions of my prayer partner, the prophesy about taking care of small things... that was a God thing. I had come believing in a God thing, doubted when the service seemed to long, and then found God again. I could have walked-out. Instead, I allowed that feeling to wash over me... to accept that everything that had happened this evening was just as God intended from Hawk to hand-on-shoulder.
The prayer ended and I finally noticed who I was talking to: Elijah. And I was John... the real John. Just as important as my namesake, too:
Jesus: "Even the least in the Kingdom of God is more honored than John the Baptist". That's me... rotten little skeptic... looking at his watch, can't spare a nickel for GRCC. Honored.
I said to Elijah "That was real! Hey, we're Elijah and John!" Then I gave him a very tight hug and said a very short prayer over him. "God, thank you for speaking through Elijah tonight."
I left the building, still blazing with the Spirit's touch.
Well, what do you think happened then? Do you think I ran out to my car and pulled a trumpet from the trunk, then ran back to the sanctuary to play?
YES! OF COURSE! I WOULDN'T GO TO WORSHIP WITHOUT MY BABIES!!!
Oh holy crap yes! I snuck in, though, and stalked up to a dimly lit corner. I pressed my precious sugar to my brow and began to pray. "ohpleaseGodletthisbeordainedbecauseireallywanttoplay
andnotbeselfishortryingtoglorifymyselfijustfeelthisgiftsostronglyandiwantto..." etc.
Then, at some point, I started adding to the music—still in my half-fetal prayer position. I gradually swelled into the music. *details details* One thing is for sure: I did not worry about impressing people or showing technical prowess. I just expressed and played to God, like DB had always told me to...
Several times, I wondered if that worship band EVER stopped. Finally, there was a smooth transition from band to pre-recorded music. I talked with the director and he said, literally:
"Oh yeah, you gotta let that thing out... look on the church website and e-mail me."
I'm in.
It may have started with some prophetic words from my therapist last Friday. I told Dr. Lennox Forrest that I wanted to get out of my own head—that I needed other people to pray for and care about. Lennox smiled and gave a gentle nod. "Messiah," he said "will no doubt send people into your life to care about if you ask." Someday, I should regale you readers of my mental/spiritual health journey—of Pastor Joyce, Dr. Forrest and a guy named Jerry who I've seen just once (oh, and Charlie Farnum—which is worth a grin for those who know him). It suffices to say, Lennox is not like many therapists... and it almost scared me away a few months ago...
Of course, I knew there were going to be SOME new people in my life: I joined Grand Rapids Christian Connect on Facebook. I met James, Mike, Sarah, Ruth, Leah and many others this past Saturday during an extensive evening. We ate at the twisted chicken and then went and hung-out. I almost did not go—thinking my time might be better spent working on my résumé (which remains unfinished and far from reaching a distant coast). Socializing was not a bad choice, for me. However, that was not what Lennox meant.
He probably meant some strange person who offered to have my children if I made her a taco... or something like that... I might have to gloss over that business for now since I have important testimony to get to... (Frank: One would hope you return to that story! Sheesh!)
It was definitely under-way by Sunday morning, but it did not exactly feel that way at first. We (Plainfield United Methodist, just to refresh your memories) had our outdoor worship at Huff park. A few months ago, I eyed that date with eager anticipation, imagining the sound of trumpet echoing through nearby swamps. Instead, I had a bad-embouchure week and failed to practice for the service. I showed-up and decided to exercise a different gift: helps. I carried equipment, caught the Pastor's notes when the wind blew them off the stand and... led the singing. Later, Jen mentioned that she might like us to sing harmony some time and, for the first time, I realized that my singing was not just a substitute for playing. Yet, like I said to Joyce before the service "I suppose this is a chance for God to show me I'm made of more than music..." Make no mistakes, though: I am built to Worship. That's no boast... it just is...
After our picnic, I called-out the Bingo numbers. Everyone playing bingo had a wonderful time and I was able to put-away my idol: the clock. I let the time pass and enjoyed the weather. Long after we had left the park, I realized that I had forgotten something important: my bag with the Bible and harmonica in it. 1) I seem to have misplaced my other Bible, as well—no Good book 2) the harmonica was my grandfather's. He passed away this April.
Tuesday, I finally hit the end of my rope. Tired from late-night discussions, numbed by the ambiguities of my job, I made my daily pilgrimage to river-side park and started to play. Even after a thorough-cleaning, my trumpeting still lacked the clarity I desired. The fuzziness was all in me. I tried to push through it to the other side~ and in small ways I felt myself succeeding. In the end, I knew what I thirsted for: BIBLE. Not in the sense that I should read my Bible (because by that time I knew it was in the church office, ready for me) but in the sense that I truly desired to connect with God via scripture. I also knew I was being an ass: I felt a pull toward the Christian bookstore to buy a new Bible but I was letting the money and the time it takes to make a trip prevent me from going. I also hadn't had a devo in a few days.
This is the part where it starts to become obvious. Now, I do not mean to sum up my entire belief system in this entry—or even imply that it is a static set of beliefs. However, I should mention that I think God is present in all things and at all times – I call it the metanatural and I believe it moves at faster than the speed of light. To me, the supernatural is when the metanatural moves in ways that defy normal and reveal truth in the natural universe. I don't believe that supernatural and natural differ in their origins at all—only in their purpose: the steady and regular versus the sanctified and ceremonial. Something unexpectedly Holy happened after I brought home my new New Living Translation. First of all... it's a cute little blue Bible! I love it! But seriously... I opened up my devotion and the suggested scripture was Corinthians 13 (Paul's take on love). That got my attention: "By God's will (I believe, putting skepticism away), the first verse I read in my new Bible is about Love." It reminded me of my first week as a Kinawind counselor, which is another long story.
Yet, God's sense of humor does not stop there. I felt compelled to do two devos. The scripture for the second one was Proverbs 16. Ringing any bells? Check out my facebook profile—it's the first quotation on my wall (and will remain so forever, now...). "Wow... double-play..." It was then that I started to feel a profound peace. I had been so quick to pick-up the Bible that I did not even bother to look at its theme. God had: a 'living water' Bible. I was thirsty, remember? God was faithful. Apparently, God idiot-proofed my trip to the bookstore... more on my cool new Bible at another time.
...meanwhile, the plot thickens with taco-girl... what is going on?!?! *clears throat*
However, August 18th 2010 seems to be have been a consecrated day from inception. Again, I want to stress who I have been. I have a gift of wisdom and knowledge, the sharp-edge of which is analysis and even skepticism. To be impressed with these phenomena, I have to be caught with my guard down—I am not proud of this. This morning, I was completely taken from the moment I awakened. You see, almost every morning I have awakened in this apartment since that first drab November day has been a chore. I will raise you another sad fact: the preceding two mornings, I do not even recall shutting off my alarm and returning to bed. I know that I set the alarm but my sub-conscious learned to diffuse it without bringing me fully to consciousness. When I reached full consciousness today...
...I was dancing to "Go Go Go" by the Orange County Supertones, reminiscent of my days as a fifteen year-old. I mean, I was up and going and making my bed for the first time in a month just jamming to the music. I wondered how I could shut that music off every single morning. I knew right then that this day was going to be miraculous. You see, I also have the gift of miracles... it's really hard to use with the gift of Wisdom because I'm skeptical. When I had begun to eat, I remembered that tonight was going to be the first Grand Rapids Christian Connect Worship Night. "Okay, God... you are definitely cross-referencing: I am made to worship. Let's go..."
Work was a little less blah. I was able to be thankful for my perks, rather than feeling guilty about them. Who would not be thankful for the gift of Christian McBride, Branford Marsalis and others over Pandora radio? I did some laminating and was content to be working with my hands more than with my mind. Even better, I got to joke-around with officer Bob:
Bob:"Who was that blonde from yesterday?"
Me: *hesistates and thinks of taco girl, then remembers* "Oh! She's going to be the new intern. We interviewed her yesterday and she did well."
"Alright! Yeah...woo!"
"Woo! You crack me up, Bob..."
Where was I?
...3 mile road was closed for repairs. I had to double-back on highway 96. My idol came-out to haunt me as I lamented the wasted time and motion. Then, God came to say hello—sitting on a sign-post for Leonard street.
"Hi, God... good to see you. I guess this means I am exactly where I am supposed to be."
For those of you who do not know, God likes to visit me in the form of hawks (if I had a 'Spirit Animal', it would be a bird of prey). I know, in my mind, that red-tail hawks frequent highways as a source of carrion. Yet, they time themselves so well that I cannot help but believe that they are driven there by that metanatural Hand. I attached a cheesy lesson to it: "I guess this was a God-ordained detour—if only this entire Grand Rapids trip could be so blessed. If only my NEXT adventure were so blessed. Where am I going?" –but I wrestled free from that reverie.
Sunshine church has a big sanctuary, set into the ground like a theater. You enter at the top and descend toward a stage. The band was already setting-up and I did not dare talk to them. Instead, I found a familiar face and said hello before entering into some light prayer. After ten minutes, I caught myself glancing at my watch, noticing it was past time. About that time, I made eye-contact with a man. I thought something might have passed between but, as I am learning, discernment is not my gift. I saw that his name was Jeremy, so when he introduced himself I wondered if he was the same Jeremy that conducted the worship band and if James had said something about my desire to play. No. He was another Jeremy—and confessed plainly that he had been blessed with the gift of prophesy and had seen this kind of worship coming in a dream. The statement struck me as odd, but my own miraculous morning caused me to reign in my skepticism. For the first time in my in-real-time life, I accepted that someone else might have a perceptive ability that I simply would never have. Academically, I never denied it. Yet in the moment, I had to accept and appreciate that what this guy told me was not a delusion. FAITH.
Unsurprisingly, I accepted the invitation to come forward and worship close to the stage. Without my trumpet, I decided to let my voice do what my trumpet might. Good news and bad news: The style of worship was perfect for improvising and experimenting in exactly the style that I am most gifted in—but my voice is untrained and so I had to get-over being on-key. Yet, I was impressed with how I was able to get over that (probably with Help). I figured "I need to express freely with my voice while I have the chance—" –and it felt right. I asked God over and over again "Let me be part of this worship!" while thinking all the while "I am so selfish... I love to entertain... am I doing this for the wrong reasons?"
But my big challenge was to come while Mike and James were speaking, not while we were singing. I sang my heart-out and was SURE that I wanted to continue coming AND be part of worship. So certain. Then, Mike got up to speak and opened his mouth...
I am not going to take apart the sermon. To summarize, I found it redundant and awkward in places... while simultaneously I saw the truth in it. In other words, I sat and stewed in cognitive dissonance for the duration of his sermon while I listened to him tell us how we could call ourselves righteous. Mike is kind of... well... a bragger; I found some things he said to be prideful—which reminded me of something I heard CS Lewis said about those with terrible pride finding pride so easily in others. Still, God uses all kinds. Obviously, the entire sermon set ushered in a period of spiritual warfare for me—especially the part where he admonished us to listen to the people who God has sent and not be critical. Criticism is practically my gift—there has to be accountability. Yet, simultaneously, he was telling me things I NEEDED to hear—about love, faith, forgiveness. My inner-opposition baffled me, though I should not be so surprised that I felt it. The same thing happened when James got up to speak: my idol started pestering me. I wanted to leave and come back to my safe bubble (talk to taco girl, whatever...). When they asked for money, I was fully in the enemies grip. I waved-off the offering bucket, slouched in my chair, waiting for the worship team to resume. James spoke about purpose and gifts and... things that I knew were relevant. At the same time, my own pride was raging. I was trying to think of reasons why I should not sit there and listen to a couple of guys who had never even been fully through seminary speak. I knew I was getting what I needed. I had to shove my watch in my pocket just to stand it. At the end, the guys apologized and reassured us that they had not meant for it to go so long. My ambivalence reached its height as they called forward their prayer-team. 'Oh, a prayer-team...' I thought 'well, isn't that special—'.
We were actually dismissed at this point. I could have walked-out then. I could have not come at all, really, and spent time writing stuff to impress... people. The World around me. Then, a seed that Charlie helped plant came to bud. I have been reading a book about spiritual gifts and gift-areas. When I took the assessment at the beginning of the book, it indicated that I was strong in knowledge (very strong), somewhat weak in Spirit power (disappointing, because that's the cool part), and pretty dismal in commitment. I blamed my lack of commitment on the paucity of suitable opportunities to be committed to. "I could just keep playing for Plainfield UMC and not be here for so long on Wednesdays..." I said to myself, ignoring the power I had felt in worship.
Then, I made a conscious decision to go against my nature. I decided that I was going to be prayed over, even though I had been prayed-over in church services before—usually with pleasant but somewhat ambiguous results. Yet, I decided that my musical/skeptical ASS was going to stick with these Wednesday services for at least a while and learn what there was to learn. In an uncharacteristic spurt of discipline, I recognized that I was being ridiculous.
I bypassed Mike and James and introduced myself to another member of the prayer team. His name was Elijah. ... ...let that ruminate, those of you with some Bible knowledge:
"Hi, I'm Elijah..."
"Hi, I'm John..."
"...the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: prepare ye the way for the Lord!"
"'...but Elijah has already come and they would not listen to him'. He was referring to John the Baptist."
---I didn't think about any of this—that's part of the miracle, naturally. My reaction was to shake his hand and give him a hug. I am a touchy-feely guy and apparently so was Elijah. I told him I was going to be looking for a new job soon and that I wanted to bring the Lord deeper into my heart. He put his hand on my shoulder and I put my hand on his and he started to pray for me. *tears filling John's eyes*
Oh yes. How do I even begin?... because this prayer is the entire reason for the whole entry.
Let's toss-out the elephant in the room: it feels nice to be embraced by another human-being these days. It's not a sexual thing at all—I felt warm just because I was sharing a bond of trust and compassion with a brother in Christ. His exact words, in their entirety, escape me—
I remember getting the sense that I should let my own hand drop to my side. It was like a vibe I was getting and I just went with it. *brief reminder tingle* The prayer started generic, speaking to the issues I had raised. That was as I expected—but I let my expectations start to slip away. *another reminder tingle*. A crescendo began. At first he asked God to reassure me that I did have gifts and that I was called *stronger reminder tingle—I swear, these didn't start until I began to write about THIS*. Then he said something about a 'new revelation—I caught the muted pun on my name (John wrote Revelation, according to tradition) but I just 'knew' that it was beyond the point. *more tingles* The lovely tingle of the Spirit started to come over me, first emanating from the point where Elijah's hand touched John's shoulder. The prayers got really specific and really apt quickly. Out of the blue, he started praying healing on my family—for broken relationships and illness (I'll take divorce and cancer for 1000, Alex). The tingling was spreading and I knew it was the Holy Spirit at work (plus, it feels Divine—in the gooooood way, like a massage), reassuring me. My skeptic side might have discarded his words as freak coincidence but my BODY would not deny that the real, Living, Holy Ghost was *tingle* choosing that moment as sanctified. After almost walking-away, all of my slouching, etc the Spirit was upon me. He also mentioned something about the importance of names, and made allusions to John the Baptist and John the Apostle. I bought it—the flipping Spirit of God was all over me at that point. It got better, too...
...there was a prophesy. Elijah said that I just needed to be faithful in the small things. *tingle* He told me if I was faithful in the small things, God would show me a big-thing (which is scriptural, as well). Elijah said that God would "blow my mind...". All of which was still carrying the possibility of doubt. Are you ready, readers? You know my weaknesses: my own intellect. Both Mike and James had alluded to our sub-conscious traps—my skeptical heart was in evidence. This is the good part:
Instinctively, Elijah moved his hand off of my shoulder and onto my head. That was when all doubt was erased. He started to pray about my doubts and skepticism—prayed for my sub-conscious mind to be healed. The exact words escape me because I cannot get past (and am still tingling on account of) the feeling of the Holy Spirit surging up my spine and literally touching my brain. The experience of joy during worship—that could have been emotional contagion. The tingling in my shoulder? Contact from another. But the sparks in my brain, the uncanny perceptions of my prayer partner, the prophesy about taking care of small things... that was a God thing. I had come believing in a God thing, doubted when the service seemed to long, and then found God again. I could have walked-out. Instead, I allowed that feeling to wash over me... to accept that everything that had happened this evening was just as God intended from Hawk to hand-on-shoulder.
The prayer ended and I finally noticed who I was talking to: Elijah. And I was John... the real John. Just as important as my namesake, too:
Jesus: "Even the least in the Kingdom of God is more honored than John the Baptist". That's me... rotten little skeptic... looking at his watch, can't spare a nickel for GRCC. Honored.
I said to Elijah "That was real! Hey, we're Elijah and John!" Then I gave him a very tight hug and said a very short prayer over him. "God, thank you for speaking through Elijah tonight."
I left the building, still blazing with the Spirit's touch.
Well, what do you think happened then? Do you think I ran out to my car and pulled a trumpet from the trunk, then ran back to the sanctuary to play?
YES! OF COURSE! I WOULDN'T GO TO WORSHIP WITHOUT MY BABIES!!!
Oh holy crap yes! I snuck in, though, and stalked up to a dimly lit corner. I pressed my precious sugar to my brow and began to pray. "ohpleaseGodletthisbeordainedbecauseireallywanttoplay
andnotbeselfishortryingtoglorifymyselfijustfeelthisgiftsostronglyandiwantto..." etc.
Then, at some point, I started adding to the music—still in my half-fetal prayer position. I gradually swelled into the music. *details details* One thing is for sure: I did not worry about impressing people or showing technical prowess. I just expressed and played to God, like DB had always told me to...
Several times, I wondered if that worship band EVER stopped. Finally, there was a smooth transition from band to pre-recorded music. I talked with the director and he said, literally:
"Oh yeah, you gotta let that thing out... look on the church website and e-mail me."
I'm in.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
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