We would get to church, often late. Me and my three siblings alongside my mama.
Daddy went to church earlier than us because he was a deacon. The deacons sat up front. We sat in the back. I didn’t say it then, but I missed seeing Daddy by Mama’s side.
By the time we’d settle into our seats, praise and worship would still be occurring.
Loud music. Hands raised. Varying ranges bellowing from persons around. I loved observing everyone, including the man on the left who would often wave his hands like he was dancing—his jerry curl swaying side to side, completely lost in worship. I wanted to be like him…Free.
I’d sing the words on the screen, often looking forward to when we could sit down again.
But sometimes, every so often, my favorite part of church would occur.
It didn’t happen often.
Maybe a few times a year.
The moment when something would sweep across the room with an immersive yet gentle wave.
The moment when hearts would grow still and time wouldn’t take precedence.
Even as I child I felt “it” and craved for “it” to happen.
The moment when the Holy Spirit would manifest His Presence and the atmosphere would suddenly shift.
And when it did, the sermon wouldn’t move forward as planned. The worship wouldn’t end as scheduled. Instead, the echoing cries of the audience would continue in praise. Some persons, full of joy, would break out in bodily movements I hadn’t seen before. And the musicians would carry on without a particular song in cue.
There’d be a flow.
A sort of dance that I could feel before seeing.
A disruption that I’d secretly pray to never end.
I’d see our pastor walk on stage but somehow be arrested from talking. I’d see him teeter-totter the line between ending the moment or letting it be.
Oh, how’d I pray he’d just let it be. Sometimes he would and, to my joy, “time” would carry on and there’d be no sermon that day.
Sometimes the pastor wouldn’t and, to my disappointment, I’d be left longing for the next time when I could experience the disruption of the Spirit again.
Unfortunately, the times were few and far between.
But I never forgot the feeling I’d get in between times.
It was one of freedom.
I got older.
I felt the Holy Spirit’s presence more often—rather, I learned to acknowledge Him through a greater sense of awareness.
In college, the Holy Spirit became my best friend. I felt when He was grieved. I felt when He was pleased. I needed Him for revelation while reading the Word. I ran to Him for comfort whenever life broke me. His leading, His promptings, His comfort, His conviction, and His disruptions became a part of our dance.
A few weeks ago, my husband and I came home after a long day of celebrating both Memorial Day and our eldest daughter’s 4th birthday with family.
My husband and I have four children with our fifth child due to arrive in a few weeks. To say “life is full” is a vast understatement.
After being out for most of the day- a day filled with hotdogs, water slides, sun-kisssed faces, vibrant conversations, and zapped energy—my husband and I came home and began preparing for the upcoming week. We both did bedtime routines. I began cleaning the downstairs. My husband began taking out the trash. I wiped down the counters. He placed the dishes into the dishwasher. You know, our typical dance.
I was about to pull out the mop when I felt a nudge. A quiet disruption. A prompting.
“Ev,” I said with a sigh, motioning to get my husband’s attention.
“Yeah?” he responded while pulling down his wireless headphones to hear me.
“I feel like the Holy Spirit wants me to stop for the night and just go upstairs. But…I planned on mopping, prepping homeschool stuff, and folding some laundry. The first day back from a weekend like this, alone with the kids, is HARD. I don’t want to be rushing in the morning and feeling overwhelmed. What should I do?”
“Sounds like obeying is going to be an act of faith,” he said while moving on to his next task. It had been a long day for us both. Weariness dripped in his every uttered word.
My husband went upstairs to prep for his week at work.
I sat, thought about it, placed the mop back on the hook, and followed suit. I knew what the Holy Spirit was beckoning me to do.
I read the Word, journaled, and blogged some—all acts of faith.
Although it wasn’t hard to simply obey the Lord’s prompting, I felt quite annoyed. I felt that I desperately needed to finish all my tasks in order to evade stress. I felt that Martha had a point about Mary. There was work to be done. It wouldn’t get done by itself.
The older I get, the more I find myself fighting and disliking disruption. When I was a child, I looked forward to any level of disruption.
Excitement for the unknown ignited wander.
Now, the unknown often ignites caution, worry, or fear.
My illusion of predictability elicits security. This false sense of security can often become grounds for false worship—in my case, doing whatever possible to maintain some form of constancy.
But for anyone who has followed the Lord for longer than one second, the Lord’s character is consistent but He tends to form varying paths for His children to take in order to teach His children to NOT rely on what they can see or predict, but on WHO is walking hand in hand with them and leading the way.
Oh, what dependence this requires.
The Holy Spirit is reminding me again to reflect on the childlike excitement I once had when He would disrupt regularly scheduled programs for His agenda and for His glory. Don’t get me wrong. The regularly scheduled program can be for His agenda for HIs glory, but it needs to be closely tethered to HIM for one to know when to insert the necessary pivots (and not checkmarks to glory in something being “done” or accomplished according to man’s plans.)
Funny enough, my sister surprised me the next day by coming over my home unexpectedly. She helped me with homeschool lessons, leaving me enough time to finish other chores. It ended up being the smoothest day I’d experienced in a very long time.
Pondered Thought: In what area of your life, big or small, is the Lord disrupting things and guiding you to allow Him to change course? Are your hands open or closed to this? If closed, reflect and ask yourself ‘why?’
Inspired Passage of Scripture:
Acts 16: 6-10
6 Paul and his companions traveled throughout the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been kept by the Holy Spirit from preaching the word in the province of Asia. 7 When they came to the border of Mysia, they tried to enter Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus would not allow them to. 8 So they passed by Mysia and went down to Troas. 9 During the night Paul had a vision of a man of Macedonia standing and begging him, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” 10 After Paul had seen the vision, we got ready at once to leave for Macedonia, concluding that God had called us to preach the gospel to them.