I used to identify myself with writing. I used to say that’s who I was – a writer. I also used to say that I loved to write, but I think I “love to have written” much more than the actual writing process. I used to feel the same way about shopping. I don’t shop anymore.
I haven’t written apart from here in some time now. That 130-page document - it’s stayed right where it’s at since November. And part of it is because I talk now. I let my sisters, my family, carry with me the weight my hurt imposes, hoping I’ll recognize every opportunity to do the same for them. But mostly it’s because I let Jesus heal. I let Jesus bind up those things I thought I had to write about. I let Him do what He said He would-- and carry my sin, and my shame, and my little broken heart- all bruised from exposure- on His own shoulders.
But today I barely opened my eyes, and immediately knew it was a writing day. I praise God for the clarity that comes with this process, however excruciating it may come to play out.
I praise Him that it can play out.
I’ve been discouraged the past week. At the start of this semester, God called some pretty big things from this tiny servant. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, He told me not to fear. He told me He’d gone before me and made the way, built the ground I was treading, won the war before my battle even begun.
I was reading His word, genuinely praising Him for what He’d done and what He was doing, bringing my heart in worship to Him that He might accept the vulnerable state I was in. And somewhere in that, I stopped meditating on a living Word that was meant to sustain me and my worship was brought in distraction. I was distracted by glory. But it wasn’t His glory. I was distracted by trying to do everything right, forgetting that who I am to Him doesn’t rest on what I can make from my own two hands.
Last night was our weekly time to gather for prayer as a family. The church we meet at is about a thirteen minute walk from my dorm, so I left twenty before. I talked to Him the whole way there, and then on the floor of the empty church where I felt like my thoughts and words were just bouncing off the white walls and echoing back to me. I started with my face to the ground, asking to be humbled, and never really got to the end of my prayer. He began to soften my heart and I think I only wanted Him to a little bit because I got terribly uncomfortable as it started slipping in between ribs to form a puddle on the floor.
The directors of Columbia’s House of Prayer joined us last night, and the Spirit met with us as we asked Him to fill the room.
In the middle of singing and prayer, everything became still, like the air before a tornado shows itself. It seemed strange but I took a very audible breath because I really felt like I was going to need it—and I heard someone else do the same. Then the ceiling opened up and the floor fell out from underneath us, and we sat in a chasm of praise and song, petitioning and intercession. My words weren’t bouncing off of the empty walls. There weren’t any walls. I actually didn’t have words. I didn’t speak at all. I listened, which is never easy for me. But I told Him I was tired of talking all the time, and I wanted to hear Him. He filled us with the still, heavy air that calls of the Tornado. The air that warns- we have to prepare for this Storm. And He came in a whirlwind.
We cried out passionately to Him for guidance.
Yesterday before going to meet at the church, I’d been reading about John 16:7.
“Right now, imagine what it would be like to have Christ standing beside you in the flesh, functioning as your personal Counselor. Imagine the peace that would come from knowing you would always receive perfect truth and flawless direction from Him. That sounds amazing, and none of us could deny the benefit of having Jesus here physically, guiding and enabling us every step of the way. Yet why do we assume that this would be any better than the literal presence of the Holy Spirit.” – Francis Chan, Forgotten God
Chan talks about John 16:7, how Jesus says that it’s to their “advantage” that He goes away, because if He didn’t, the Counselor- who is the “Forgotten God,” the least understood of the Godhead- wouldn’t be able to come.
And when He comes, He will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment; concerning sin, because they do not believe in me; concerning righteousness, because I go to my Father, and you will see me no longer; concerning judgment, because the ruler of this world is judged. I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, He will guide you into all the truth, for He will not speak on His own authority, but whatever He hears He will speak, and He will declare to you the things that are to come.
- John 16: 8-13
We were all sitting there, feeling the weight of still air turn to this whirlwind as it was consumed in Fire, when one of my sisters began reading this. And one of the directors was singing out, “I keep feeling You say, ‘Don’t be afraid!’” And He stopped me in that moment, and confirmed yet again that everything He’s promised until this point remains true.
I sat there in that circle of believers, the piano guiding our moving and breathing and praying as one; all the walls were pushed aside, the ceiling too far above our heads to see. I sat there and didn’t say a thing, resting not on the works of my two hands, but on the fact that He interceded for me. He spoke on my behalf.
I love to have written, but the words aren’t mine to write.
I love this story, because it isn’t about me.
Praise Jesus.
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