For the past two weeks I've been on vocal rest, as ordered by my doctor. I had been feeling achy and strange after singing, so I visited an ENT and they told me that I showed signs of what could develop into nodules, a singer's worst nightmare. For the past two weeks, I've still stood in my place on the stage every service, four services a week. I've held the mic. I've been under the lights. But I haven't been able to make a sound. This whole experience has been one of the most challenging things I've ever gone through. I don't think I'd trade it for anything, though, because it's given me an opportunity to really think about what I believe when it comes to worship.
I believe that for too long, we've embraced a celebrity mentality when it comes to leading worship in a church. The idea of "being a worship leader" or "leading worship" has been glamorized. After all, it has all the makings of celebrity - stage, lights, music, microphone. The church isn't American Idol, however. This isn't our "one shot" for fame.
In this time of silence, I've realized what it means to really lead worship. True worship has nothing to do with the leader at all. To make it so is to make yourself an idol before the people. Sure, a great worship leader facilitates people entering into the presence of God. The perfect worship, in my opinion, is when every person and every heart is so captivated by the presence of God that they can't help but sing, when each person so embraces the expression of absolute adoration to the Lord that they reach for a unity with the sound of heaven.
You know those moments when the people with mics stop singing because the worshipers in the crowd are singing so loudly, so passionately, that they carry the song themselves? THAT is what every worship leader should aim for. It's not all about everyone hearing how great you can sing, or the ad-libs that you do, or the perfect words that you think of to say during the instrumental. The best worship leader is the one who can stop singing and let the people worship on their own. The best worship leader works himself or herself out of a job.
A few months ago we were singing "Revelation Song" in church and as I worshiped I saw something in the spirit that stirred me. It was as if the walls of our church building evaporated into thin air and instead of being limited by four walls, the entire stage was surrounded, front and back, side to side, by thousands and thousands of people singing "Holy holy holy/is the Lord God Almighty/Who was and is and is to come." And in the center of it all was this shining, bright light. The sound of the worship was overwhelming, deafening. And Jesus' glory was in the center of it all.
This silent experience has shown me how selfish I am, and how driven by my own agenda, my pride, my own need for position and place and recognition that I am. It's shown me how I've put myself in the center of my worship. When I sing well, when my performance meets my own standards, then I'm happy and somehow worship was "great." When I've failed, my voice cracked, my words forgotten, then worship was "bad." My worship has been about ME - idolatry in its purest form. I've had to repent many times in the past two weeks. I've wept with sorrow for wrong attitudes, wrong thoughts.
Funny, I've been able to worship in a deep, true way without singing a word. My heart has taken on the words to the songs. Instead of thinking about the way things sound, I've been thinking on the beauty of God, the attributes of his character. How stunning He is.
I'll probably be able to talk and sing in the next few days. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow, and he'll let me know. But I approach the day that I'll be able to use my voice again with trepidation, because I want all of the things I've learned, all of the things God's showed me, all of this burning in me to STAY. To stay real. To transform my future and WHATEVER God has for me in the future and in His church, whether it's leading worship or scrubbing toilets. He is the in middle of it all. And here am I. At His service. Totally available.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Ordering My Private World
"If my private world is in order, it will be because I have courageously confronted the messiness of my ways of living and chosen to bring them under rigorous discipline."
Gordon MacDonald
Gordon MacDonald
Sunday, February 22, 2009
On Getting Out of the Way
A man is of no use to God until he has had his "I" put out.
-Smith Wigglesworth
-Smith Wigglesworth
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Loved in the Locked-Out
So today I did something for the first time ever. I locked myself out of the house. The way I did it is a convoluted story, too long and trivial to tell here, but the point is, I was locked out. I found out rather quickly too, since my car key and house key are on the same ring, so as I approached my car and realized the keys I was carrying weren't the right ones, it hit me.
I called a friend, but she was busy and couldn't help. I texted a friend who has James Bond-like skills at breaking into things - he said he couldn't help. I called several locksmiths, and the only one who answered told me that the cost to open the lock would be $39 for traveling to my house, and then $15 or more depending on the complexity of the lock. I quickly vetoed that idea, remembering that my landlord has a key, and she just lives across town. Finally, I broke down and texted her. I didn't want to, because she works more hours than anyone I know and I didn't want to bother her on a Saturday. But I did, and she told me she was an hour away so I texted her that I'd just call a locksmith. So what else would a girl do in a desperate situation but update her facebook status?
Cassie is locked out of her house.
I sat on the porch in the bright sun and thought to myself, wow, you're handling this really well. I wasn't mad at myself. I wasn't panicked. I wasn't irritated at the prospect of possible hours of my day being lost to this mistake. And this was a big deal. I didn't grow up in a household of much grace in the area of mistake-making. I rarely allowed myself to err and became an ultimate perfectionist. Small mistakes would shatter me. Large mistakes... well, I just didn't make any of those. To give you an idea, I took the Law School Admissions Test after college, and decided not to go to law school after I got my score. It wasn't a bad score, more like average. My reasoning: If I couldn't enter law school with a top score, then I just wasn't going to go. A high score would be God's signal to me that law school was His will for my life. (At any rate, it wasn't His will for my life, and whew, am I glad I figured that out before I spent the money and the time!) When I moved to Florida, I met people who lived completely free of the bonds of perfectionism. They allowed themselves room to make mistakes and showed me how I could do the same. It transformed me. Don't get me wrong - I still want to be right, and correct, and infallible. Still a struggle. But I've grown a lot.
Back to the story. Within seconds of reading my facebook status, a friend texted me and asked me first if I wanted him to break into my house (I said no) and second if I wanted to ignore the problem and go get Chinese food. So off we went. Still, not worried. After eating, we went to my new house, I took a few more pictures, and then I decided to call the locksmith. My friend dropped me off at my door and I there I was again, waiting for the guy to come. Still happy. Still unbothered at this whole thing.
A big white box van pulled up, the kind that kidnappers use. A young guy with curly hair and aviators came up to the walk, speaking on his phone in another language. He approached me and looked at the lock. After inspecting it, he said, "If I can pick it, it'll be $110. If I have to drill it, it's going to be $149. Cash or credit?"
I gasped. $149? When a key was across town?! This was crazy! "I'm sorry, I can't do that. That's more than I can afford. Thanks anyway. I'll just pay you your travel fee."
"Well how much did you think it would be?" he asked.
"Like $55 dollars! It's not a complex lock! It's not deadbolted. I just can't swing it that price. Thanks though."
He motioned for me to wait as he got his phone. "Here," he said after having a short conversation in another language. "You talk to my boss."
I took the phone. "Ma'am, the best we can do is $110. If you pay cash." I was still not able to do this. I explained it to him and handed back the phone to the man with the aviators. He spoke a few minutes longer.
"My boss just said the best we can do is $65."
Now I was ticked. This was unbelievable. How does one go from $149 to $65 in the matter of minutes? They would've taken the full amount and ran if I would've been willing and desperate enough. This was a matter of principle now.
"No. I'm sorry. I'll pay you for your travel and use another option." I reached into my purse and handed him two $20 bills. He took them, ripped a receipt out of his book, tossed it at me, and walked away. As his van pulled away, I looked at the receipt. He didn't even give me the $1 change I was due. And now, I was still in the same position as I had been before his visit, just $40 poorer.
It was then that the tears began. How could I be so stupid? I did not want to ask my landlord for help after I had already told her I was getting a locksmith. Wouldn't I look like an idiot? Incompetent? Like a failure? The warm tears ran down my cheeks as I cried there on the front porch. I had no idea what to do, so I just sat there and cried.
All of a sudden, I heard a car horn. It startled me and I jumped a little, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I turned around, and a woman emerged from the car. It was my landlord! At the exact moment that I needed her most! She walked up the sidewalk to me and I walked to her. She said, "We figured we would just stop by to make sure you got in okay." I hugged her for a long time.
She didn't have to come. She hadn't been asked to come - I had been too proud to do that. But she came anyway, unsolicited.
This whole day was proof that I still have a ways to go in breaking out of my own self-sufficiency and pride. I hesitate to ask anything of anyone that would put them out. I wish I could do everything on my own so as not to bother anyone. The truth is, no man is an island. We need each other. And in situations like these, God is able to show his love to me through people - people who listen to Him, who care, who don't think it's a big deal to drive a few miles to make sure a girl can get into her house.
I called a friend, but she was busy and couldn't help. I texted a friend who has James Bond-like skills at breaking into things - he said he couldn't help. I called several locksmiths, and the only one who answered told me that the cost to open the lock would be $39 for traveling to my house, and then $15 or more depending on the complexity of the lock. I quickly vetoed that idea, remembering that my landlord has a key, and she just lives across town. Finally, I broke down and texted her. I didn't want to, because she works more hours than anyone I know and I didn't want to bother her on a Saturday. But I did, and she told me she was an hour away so I texted her that I'd just call a locksmith. So what else would a girl do in a desperate situation but update her facebook status?
Cassie is locked out of her house.
I sat on the porch in the bright sun and thought to myself, wow, you're handling this really well. I wasn't mad at myself. I wasn't panicked. I wasn't irritated at the prospect of possible hours of my day being lost to this mistake. And this was a big deal. I didn't grow up in a household of much grace in the area of mistake-making. I rarely allowed myself to err and became an ultimate perfectionist. Small mistakes would shatter me. Large mistakes... well, I just didn't make any of those. To give you an idea, I took the Law School Admissions Test after college, and decided not to go to law school after I got my score. It wasn't a bad score, more like average. My reasoning: If I couldn't enter law school with a top score, then I just wasn't going to go. A high score would be God's signal to me that law school was His will for my life. (At any rate, it wasn't His will for my life, and whew, am I glad I figured that out before I spent the money and the time!) When I moved to Florida, I met people who lived completely free of the bonds of perfectionism. They allowed themselves room to make mistakes and showed me how I could do the same. It transformed me. Don't get me wrong - I still want to be right, and correct, and infallible. Still a struggle. But I've grown a lot.
Back to the story. Within seconds of reading my facebook status, a friend texted me and asked me first if I wanted him to break into my house (I said no) and second if I wanted to ignore the problem and go get Chinese food. So off we went. Still, not worried. After eating, we went to my new house, I took a few more pictures, and then I decided to call the locksmith. My friend dropped me off at my door and I there I was again, waiting for the guy to come. Still happy. Still unbothered at this whole thing.
A big white box van pulled up, the kind that kidnappers use. A young guy with curly hair and aviators came up to the walk, speaking on his phone in another language. He approached me and looked at the lock. After inspecting it, he said, "If I can pick it, it'll be $110. If I have to drill it, it's going to be $149. Cash or credit?"
I gasped. $149? When a key was across town?! This was crazy! "I'm sorry, I can't do that. That's more than I can afford. Thanks anyway. I'll just pay you your travel fee."
"Well how much did you think it would be?" he asked.
"Like $55 dollars! It's not a complex lock! It's not deadbolted. I just can't swing it that price. Thanks though."
He motioned for me to wait as he got his phone. "Here," he said after having a short conversation in another language. "You talk to my boss."
I took the phone. "Ma'am, the best we can do is $110. If you pay cash." I was still not able to do this. I explained it to him and handed back the phone to the man with the aviators. He spoke a few minutes longer.
"My boss just said the best we can do is $65."
Now I was ticked. This was unbelievable. How does one go from $149 to $65 in the matter of minutes? They would've taken the full amount and ran if I would've been willing and desperate enough. This was a matter of principle now.
"No. I'm sorry. I'll pay you for your travel and use another option." I reached into my purse and handed him two $20 bills. He took them, ripped a receipt out of his book, tossed it at me, and walked away. As his van pulled away, I looked at the receipt. He didn't even give me the $1 change I was due. And now, I was still in the same position as I had been before his visit, just $40 poorer.
It was then that the tears began. How could I be so stupid? I did not want to ask my landlord for help after I had already told her I was getting a locksmith. Wouldn't I look like an idiot? Incompetent? Like a failure? The warm tears ran down my cheeks as I cried there on the front porch. I had no idea what to do, so I just sat there and cried.
All of a sudden, I heard a car horn. It startled me and I jumped a little, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I turned around, and a woman emerged from the car. It was my landlord! At the exact moment that I needed her most! She walked up the sidewalk to me and I walked to her. She said, "We figured we would just stop by to make sure you got in okay." I hugged her for a long time.
She didn't have to come. She hadn't been asked to come - I had been too proud to do that. But she came anyway, unsolicited.
This whole day was proof that I still have a ways to go in breaking out of my own self-sufficiency and pride. I hesitate to ask anything of anyone that would put them out. I wish I could do everything on my own so as not to bother anyone. The truth is, no man is an island. We need each other. And in situations like these, God is able to show his love to me through people - people who listen to Him, who care, who don't think it's a big deal to drive a few miles to make sure a girl can get into her house.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Song of Songs
As a single girl, this time of year, right around Valentine's Day, can be pretty rough. Recently, every time I see a happy couple arm-in-arm, or, honestly, even couple on TV kiss or hug, I get a little twinge inside, a little longing for what they have. I've never had a significant other over a Valentines Day, so I don't know what it's like to get roses, or chocolates, or a mushy card or a love poem on this Hallmark holiday. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, I promise! That's lame, and I try to avoid it. But there is a certain "missing" that goes on. Like, when you see a little blonde-haired girl playing with a beautiful labrador retriever puppy in fields of green grass in advertisements, and you think, "Wow, if I had that puppy, my life would be so complete." But then when you get the dog you discover it isn't that smart, and it pees on the carpet and chews up your favorite shoes and electronics and never quite lives up to the ideal that you had formed in your mind of what "having a puppy" would be like.
(I'm not comparing having a man to having a dog. Two totally different things!!! What I'm trying to say is that a lot goes into having a relationship. It's not always as perfect and pretty as it looks on TV.)
I've had a minor preoccupation with the book Song of Solomon since last April. I picked up a commentary on it by Watchman Nee and, as he dissected the book word by word, sentence by sentence, it really captivated me. Recently I began reading it from the beginning again, and every time I do, I'm overwhelmed with the way God tells me how much He loves me through this book! And it's even better than commercial-perfect love. The world can't even write it this good!
My friend Annie cracks me up. She said recently, "I don't read Song of Solomon! That book is for married people!" Yeah, I guess it could be. But to me, it's like the most intimate of Hallmark cards- you know, the ones that have really long, specific messages on the inside, like, I still want to give our love a chance even though the kids you had with your first wife hate me.
Song of Solomon is a conversation between God and me. It's so honest.
Here's a girl, concerned with how she looks, putting all her faults out there, giving this guy every excuse to walk away, almost expecting him to do so.
She says "I am dark..." but her friends say, "You are lovely."
She says, "Don't look at me!" He says, "You are beautiful."
She says, "I have been so busy looking after everything else in life, I haven't looked after myself." He says, "Exactly what and who you are is all I want." (Well, he also compares her to a horse, but... stay with me here!)
He looks at her for what she is. When she says she is simply a common flower, a lily of the valley, nothing special, nothing precious, he says, "You are a lily that has grown up among thorns, in deep and difficult places. You are uncommon, special, unique."
He asks her to come away. And as they walk up the rocky hillside, he asks her to sing to him, because he treasures the sound of her voice. It's the sweetest sound to him.
And when she opens up her mouth to sing to him, she sings a song that voices her concern about their relationship, a song that says that perhaps the little things, the overlooked things, may spoil their love. She can tell him what's on her heart and what worries her without fear. Their love is solid, secure, stable. There's no question that he'll leave because she exposes too much of her heart, or because he sees the real her.
I am this girl. This guy is the One to which I've devoted my life, the One my soul loves. February 14 will come and go. And it'll come again, undoubtedly, and I may or may not have an earthly love to share it with.
But I'm sure of and secure in the One my soul loves. So, man or not, puppy or not, I'm good. And I'm loved.
(I'm not comparing having a man to having a dog. Two totally different things!!! What I'm trying to say is that a lot goes into having a relationship. It's not always as perfect and pretty as it looks on TV.)
I've had a minor preoccupation with the book Song of Solomon since last April. I picked up a commentary on it by Watchman Nee and, as he dissected the book word by word, sentence by sentence, it really captivated me. Recently I began reading it from the beginning again, and every time I do, I'm overwhelmed with the way God tells me how much He loves me through this book! And it's even better than commercial-perfect love. The world can't even write it this good!
My friend Annie cracks me up. She said recently, "I don't read Song of Solomon! That book is for married people!" Yeah, I guess it could be. But to me, it's like the most intimate of Hallmark cards- you know, the ones that have really long, specific messages on the inside, like, I still want to give our love a chance even though the kids you had with your first wife hate me.
Song of Solomon is a conversation between God and me. It's so honest.
Here's a girl, concerned with how she looks, putting all her faults out there, giving this guy every excuse to walk away, almost expecting him to do so.
She says "I am dark..." but her friends say, "You are lovely."
She says, "Don't look at me!" He says, "You are beautiful."
She says, "I have been so busy looking after everything else in life, I haven't looked after myself." He says, "Exactly what and who you are is all I want." (Well, he also compares her to a horse, but... stay with me here!)
He looks at her for what she is. When she says she is simply a common flower, a lily of the valley, nothing special, nothing precious, he says, "You are a lily that has grown up among thorns, in deep and difficult places. You are uncommon, special, unique."
He asks her to come away. And as they walk up the rocky hillside, he asks her to sing to him, because he treasures the sound of her voice. It's the sweetest sound to him.
And when she opens up her mouth to sing to him, she sings a song that voices her concern about their relationship, a song that says that perhaps the little things, the overlooked things, may spoil their love. She can tell him what's on her heart and what worries her without fear. Their love is solid, secure, stable. There's no question that he'll leave because she exposes too much of her heart, or because he sees the real her.
I am this girl. This guy is the One to which I've devoted my life, the One my soul loves. February 14 will come and go. And it'll come again, undoubtedly, and I may or may not have an earthly love to share it with.
But I'm sure of and secure in the One my soul loves. So, man or not, puppy or not, I'm good. And I'm loved.
Monday, January 26, 2009
What can be done?
I have lived much of my adult life oblivious to what's going on in politics. In high school, I often expressed my beliefs about politics and had no problem defending my point of view. But during my college years, I learned that most intellectuals considered conservatism (my point of view) to be equal to ignorance, and therefore I quickly learned to keep my mouth shut.
This post isn't about conservatism or liberalism. It's not about democratic or republican. This post is about right and wrong. Today I read an article on someone's Facebook page that reported on our new president's recent overturn of the ban on the United States' financial support of international abortion. Apparently, this is a ban that is either enforced or overturned depending on which party wins the presidential election. Bush- enforced. Clinton - overturned. Little Bush - enforced. Obama - overturned.
Usually, I'd just read an article like this and shake my head, but then continue on with my day. Today is different. Today I received my W2 and I looked at the box that notes the amount of tax dollars that I've contributed to the running of our federal government. I realized that part of my money, the money that I earn by working at a life-endorsing institution (the church), is flown overseas to help women abort their babies. My money is used to forward a cause that I do not believe in and that my Christian beliefs (that God alone is the giver of life, that life is sacred and precious because it comes from Him, that each individual is born with God-given purpose and destiny) diametrically oppose.
I've done a small amount of research today and discovered that, worldwide, 46 million babies are aborted every year (that's one in five pregnancies that end in abortion). Of those, 36 million abortions take place in the developing world (2nd and 3rd world nations) and only 10 million take place in developed nations. This is startling: In Eastern Europe, 57% of pregnancies end in abortion. In East Asia, 1/3 of all pregnancies are terminated.
President Obama said, "In the coming weeks, my administration will initiate a fresh conversation on family planning, working to find areas of common ground to best meet the needs of women and families at home and around the world." His secretary of state, Hilary Clinton, who will oversee foreign aid, said, "Rather than limiting women's ability to receive reproductive health services, we should be supporting programs that help women and their partners make decisions to ensure their health and the health of their families."
Terms like "family planning" and "women's health" are intended to make a messy issue rather glossy and pretty. I've heard many stories from women who have chosen abortion. I've heard the hurt they've endured because of it, the guilt, the pain, the turmoil. What makes us think that the emotional effects of abortion are only suffered by women in Judeo-Christian nations? When abortion is offered as an out for those in other nations who find themselves with unwanted pregnancies, what happens to those women after the fact? When the term "women's health" is used, I'm inclined to believe that it refers only to her physical health and not to her emotional, spiritual, and mental health. Are the World Health Organization and United Nations jumping to offer post-abortion counseling? I highly doubt it.
What can be done? This is question that I've been struggling with all day. As a taxpayer, my money supports abortion, while my morals do not. I could stop paying taxes, but then I'd end up in jail, therefore thwarting any future impact I may be able to make for such a cause (and seriously cramping my style). The solution is much deeper than just throwing money at the issue. It's easy in America to write a check and feel like we've done our part. The worldwide anti-abortion movement is minimal. Plus, I'm not entirely sure that establishing a movement similar to the one in the United States would be that effective anyway, since, even though we have a huge anti-abortion population, it's still legal.
What if, world-wide, women knew how much God loved them and their unborn children? What if women in need were introduced to a God who concerned himself with the details of their lives and the lives of their babies? What if they found out that God has a purpose for them and their babies? What if they were offered another option in a desperate time when abortion seemed the only way out? What if there was a way to care for them and their children and ensure that they were fed, clothed, and housed?
All of this, while a very tall order, is nothing short of necessary.
Ideas?
This post isn't about conservatism or liberalism. It's not about democratic or republican. This post is about right and wrong. Today I read an article on someone's Facebook page that reported on our new president's recent overturn of the ban on the United States' financial support of international abortion. Apparently, this is a ban that is either enforced or overturned depending on which party wins the presidential election. Bush- enforced. Clinton - overturned. Little Bush - enforced. Obama - overturned.
Usually, I'd just read an article like this and shake my head, but then continue on with my day. Today is different. Today I received my W2 and I looked at the box that notes the amount of tax dollars that I've contributed to the running of our federal government. I realized that part of my money, the money that I earn by working at a life-endorsing institution (the church), is flown overseas to help women abort their babies. My money is used to forward a cause that I do not believe in and that my Christian beliefs (that God alone is the giver of life, that life is sacred and precious because it comes from Him, that each individual is born with God-given purpose and destiny) diametrically oppose.
I've done a small amount of research today and discovered that, worldwide, 46 million babies are aborted every year (that's one in five pregnancies that end in abortion). Of those, 36 million abortions take place in the developing world (2nd and 3rd world nations) and only 10 million take place in developed nations. This is startling: In Eastern Europe, 57% of pregnancies end in abortion. In East Asia, 1/3 of all pregnancies are terminated.
President Obama said, "In the coming weeks, my administration will initiate a fresh conversation on family planning, working to find areas of common ground to best meet the needs of women and families at home and around the world." His secretary of state, Hilary Clinton, who will oversee foreign aid, said, "Rather than limiting women's ability to receive reproductive health services, we should be supporting programs that help women and their partners make decisions to ensure their health and the health of their families."
Terms like "family planning" and "women's health" are intended to make a messy issue rather glossy and pretty. I've heard many stories from women who have chosen abortion. I've heard the hurt they've endured because of it, the guilt, the pain, the turmoil. What makes us think that the emotional effects of abortion are only suffered by women in Judeo-Christian nations? When abortion is offered as an out for those in other nations who find themselves with unwanted pregnancies, what happens to those women after the fact? When the term "women's health" is used, I'm inclined to believe that it refers only to her physical health and not to her emotional, spiritual, and mental health. Are the World Health Organization and United Nations jumping to offer post-abortion counseling? I highly doubt it.
What can be done? This is question that I've been struggling with all day. As a taxpayer, my money supports abortion, while my morals do not. I could stop paying taxes, but then I'd end up in jail, therefore thwarting any future impact I may be able to make for such a cause (and seriously cramping my style). The solution is much deeper than just throwing money at the issue. It's easy in America to write a check and feel like we've done our part. The worldwide anti-abortion movement is minimal. Plus, I'm not entirely sure that establishing a movement similar to the one in the United States would be that effective anyway, since, even though we have a huge anti-abortion population, it's still legal.
What if, world-wide, women knew how much God loved them and their unborn children? What if women in need were introduced to a God who concerned himself with the details of their lives and the lives of their babies? What if they found out that God has a purpose for them and their babies? What if they were offered another option in a desperate time when abortion seemed the only way out? What if there was a way to care for them and their children and ensure that they were fed, clothed, and housed?
All of this, while a very tall order, is nothing short of necessary.
Ideas?
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Bread, Books, and the Brokenhearted
Today I was in Panera, having lunch and studying for the Women's Experience. I'll be teaching on forgiveness, and I wanted to take some time to go over the notes and prepare. So there I sat, computer, Bible, and notes spread out before me. To my right side was a book called Total Forgiveness by RT Kendall. I ordered it from Amazon last week to help me prepare for the teaching. I've read it before, maybe 5 years ago, and as I was reading it this time, it really ministered to me.
So I was sitting there, and suddenly a figure loomed over me and said, in a loud voice, "Wow you look comfy! What are you doing?" I looked up, half expecting it to be someone I know, the other half of me feeling as if I was in trouble for propping my feet up on the other side of the booth. I straightened up. A lady I did not know stood there, smiling at me with warm, questioning eyes.
I'm not the type to talk to others that I don't know in public. I'm usually on the defensive. But this woman seemed so interested in what I was doing.
"Are you writing a book?" she asked. I shook my head. "A paper?"
"Well, sort of," I responded. "I'm studying about forgiveness. I'm teaching on it next week at church, so I'm just preparing." I held up the book I was reading.
"I see that," she said. She asked me which church I attended, and I responded and invited her to our services.
"Do you live in this area?" I asked.
She looked to the side. "Long story. Let's just say I live all around here." She placed a paper on the table and instructed me to write directions to the church from 192 and she'd be by to pick it up later. I bent my head down to write, and she left the table but returned very quickly. She sat on the other side of the booth. I was taken off-guard.
"Can we pray?" she asked.
"Uh, sure." I didn't know if she wanted ME to pray, or what. I bowed my head.
"I'm not that good at it," she said. Then she began to pray. In a hesitant, unsure way, she asked God to send people in her life to encourage her, to help her, and to support her. I found myself opening my eyes every few seconds, checking to make sure that my iPhone and wallet were still there. Was this lady running a scam on me? Who comes up to someone randomly and asks them to pray, really?
"I moved down here a little over a year ago in my van. You'll see it when you go out to the parking lot. Can't miss it. I bought a year-long pass to Disney, and for the last year, that's where I've gone every day. I guess you could say I'm trying to find myself. Well, the pass ran out..."
I got it. She was homeless, jobless. Living in her van and passing her days in Disney, "the happiest place on earth," in hopes that she could attain happiness despite her inner bankruptcy.
"Ya know, if I could do what it says on that book," she motioned toward Total Forgiveness, "then I wouldn't be in this mess."
She then shared with me some details about her past, and I realized that this lady wasn't scamming me. She was looking for a friend. For hope.
I asked her if she knew Jesus. I assumed she did from the prayer we shared, but I wanted to check. She assured me that she did. I explained to her about God's love. About how, apart from knowing God's forgiveness, it wasn't in our power to forgive anyone, and how, in light of the way God looked at us in our most shameful, dirty moments and, knowing all of them, still chose to love us and let our offenses go, we had no choice but to forgive.
"Do you like to read?" I asked. She motioned her hand, so-so. "Why don't you take this book? I think it'll help you."
She smiled. "There's something different about you. I can see it in your eyes," she said. "I look into a lot of eyes. You eyes have a sparkle. Something special. You took the time to talk to me. You let me sit here."
I looked down, ashamed that, a few moments ago, I had silently questioned her motives during my open-eyed prayer. "A few years ago, I was in the same place you are. Unable to forgive. But God's worked in my life. And I'm a different person."
She thanked me. "I'm gonna try to come to your church. I'll talk to you later."
I don't want to analyze this conversation, because I feel that to do so would rob you of making your own conclusions about this exchange. But I will tell you that this conversation was the most organic, natural ministry moment I've ever had. And I'd like my life to be filled with more moments like these.
So I was sitting there, and suddenly a figure loomed over me and said, in a loud voice, "Wow you look comfy! What are you doing?" I looked up, half expecting it to be someone I know, the other half of me feeling as if I was in trouble for propping my feet up on the other side of the booth. I straightened up. A lady I did not know stood there, smiling at me with warm, questioning eyes.
I'm not the type to talk to others that I don't know in public. I'm usually on the defensive. But this woman seemed so interested in what I was doing.
"Are you writing a book?" she asked. I shook my head. "A paper?"
"Well, sort of," I responded. "I'm studying about forgiveness. I'm teaching on it next week at church, so I'm just preparing." I held up the book I was reading.
"I see that," she said. She asked me which church I attended, and I responded and invited her to our services.
"Do you live in this area?" I asked.
She looked to the side. "Long story. Let's just say I live all around here." She placed a paper on the table and instructed me to write directions to the church from 192 and she'd be by to pick it up later. I bent my head down to write, and she left the table but returned very quickly. She sat on the other side of the booth. I was taken off-guard.
"Can we pray?" she asked.
"Uh, sure." I didn't know if she wanted ME to pray, or what. I bowed my head.
"I'm not that good at it," she said. Then she began to pray. In a hesitant, unsure way, she asked God to send people in her life to encourage her, to help her, and to support her. I found myself opening my eyes every few seconds, checking to make sure that my iPhone and wallet were still there. Was this lady running a scam on me? Who comes up to someone randomly and asks them to pray, really?
"I moved down here a little over a year ago in my van. You'll see it when you go out to the parking lot. Can't miss it. I bought a year-long pass to Disney, and for the last year, that's where I've gone every day. I guess you could say I'm trying to find myself. Well, the pass ran out..."
I got it. She was homeless, jobless. Living in her van and passing her days in Disney, "the happiest place on earth," in hopes that she could attain happiness despite her inner bankruptcy.
"Ya know, if I could do what it says on that book," she motioned toward Total Forgiveness, "then I wouldn't be in this mess."
She then shared with me some details about her past, and I realized that this lady wasn't scamming me. She was looking for a friend. For hope.
I asked her if she knew Jesus. I assumed she did from the prayer we shared, but I wanted to check. She assured me that she did. I explained to her about God's love. About how, apart from knowing God's forgiveness, it wasn't in our power to forgive anyone, and how, in light of the way God looked at us in our most shameful, dirty moments and, knowing all of them, still chose to love us and let our offenses go, we had no choice but to forgive.
"Do you like to read?" I asked. She motioned her hand, so-so. "Why don't you take this book? I think it'll help you."
She smiled. "There's something different about you. I can see it in your eyes," she said. "I look into a lot of eyes. You eyes have a sparkle. Something special. You took the time to talk to me. You let me sit here."
I looked down, ashamed that, a few moments ago, I had silently questioned her motives during my open-eyed prayer. "A few years ago, I was in the same place you are. Unable to forgive. But God's worked in my life. And I'm a different person."
She thanked me. "I'm gonna try to come to your church. I'll talk to you later."
I don't want to analyze this conversation, because I feel that to do so would rob you of making your own conclusions about this exchange. But I will tell you that this conversation was the most organic, natural ministry moment I've ever had. And I'd like my life to be filled with more moments like these.
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