It began with writhing to and fro for a bit. Then I would become aware I was having trouble, every so often, for moments at a time. In and out I'd be, but then I was fully awake.
Oh, I so did not want to be awake. The twitch that surfaced as I launched my own business (ie, sleepless nights and long hours) in 2008 had returned in my right eye, and when that happens, folks: I'm exhausted.
So I thought perhaps I needed to pray because at this point, prayer seemed unreal. It was weird to pray. I prayed. Still I couldn't sleep. Stubborn and tired, I wasn't going to give in easily, but at last I relented, and as I fumbled through my living room in the dark, and something told me to open the bible.
Finding the closest chair in my kitchen, I sat down at my kitchen table in the same chair I seem to always have these kinds of moments in. My mother's bible she had given me that very day was lying on the table, and so naturally, I grabbed it. As I sleepily gazed at it, my hand on top of its torn burgundy leather cover, a memory was given to me. See, I don't remember much of my childhood at all really, but the tabs. The gold tabs on the side of my mother's Thompson Chain-Reference Bible (which the nerd in me adores,btw), sent me into the memory that although they looked stiff and pokey, they were rather soft, and I would strum them, like strings of guitar. In church. I had forgotten that entirely. And then it hit me:
This is your mother's first bible. Be careful.
Distinctly -- I swear-- I heard that.
The weight of that was tremendous to me in general, but particularly at 2am when already I was already tired. What did this mean? Do not hand your own daughter your story of feeling neglected for church. For me, this bible represented a lot of hurt. That memory wrapped in the sense of neglect was lonely at my kitchen table, tired, at 2am.
Heavy, huh? Well, there's more.
And that's when I opened to Romans. The purpose in that evening, as I look back on it, was to reveal the pace at which the Lord would have me set. It was one of the first peeks into revelation that would happen (as Matt Chandler so eloquently put it this very day as he shared my story at a conference) at the pace of a "six lane super highway." I couldn't help but laugh, because it is so true, and I would just like to thank him here for that small affirmation that I am not, in fact, losing my mind. That small comment really meant the world to me as a gal livin just that -- things of all sizes, shapes, even weights. By "things" I mean godwinks, philosophy, theology, gifts, fear, past, future, success, the why behind a personality I've just lived with for 32 years that all of a sudden --snap-- I understand. Coming to see the why in all of that, all thrown at me, all at once, and none of it by my choosing. None of it. Ok, can you imagine in one day, being introduced to Mark Driscoll at 8am via youtube and finding yourself in a food pantry later that same day just to prepare you for the ultimate, end result of this hard to hear truth you knew you had to share, but was told not to share just yet? But I get ahead of my story. It is hard to handle, much less swallow --and keep your head low. But it is, admittedly, never boring and so much fun.
I read Romans 1:8-13 and simply wept. That was my introduction to Romans, the reveal of my literal hearts desire. Right there, in this book, which happened to be written by a fella named Paul. And I wondered who this Paul was, and I wondered if it had anything to do with the Paul I knew, and the Paul I --honestly--hated.
I knew it did, and in the coming months, I could catch snippets of how I would come to understand the role of both Pauls, and how they would affect my life.
It wasn't until Saturday, March 24 2012 at 2:45pm, I came to understand this better. Honestly, I will not completely understand this story until tomorrow at 4pm when I attend this Paul I knew, this Paul I hated, this Paul's funeral.
Yes, his funeral. At which I will speak.
Hence why I haven't written. It has been a fast and furious week, especially in light of the Lord's timing and his reveal of several factors coming into play presently and (as usual) all at the same time, this fast paced six lane super highway Matt explained today. For the past two days I have experienced my first Acts 29 Bootcamp. You see, Matt was speaking to a room full of church planters, potential planters, preachers, seminary students, and those simply called to be there. In that, I find it no accident, again per Acts 17, I have been placed there, to glean from these minds, and even, as was apparently laid on Matt's heart, to water the souls of the planters there and encourage them with my story, pressing the point that God saves. People don't.
To set up his point, he used my story as a visual aid for Romans 8:28-39, and that to me was so priceless, I weep even now thinking on it. A wonderful teacher, Connor Bales, is going through the book of Romans, and I learned that Romans is historically the crown of the bible, and Romans 8 considered the crown jewel itself, if you will. For this story to be placed as an example between the two verses that every Christian loves to quote but negate the middle context that glue these truths together is, for me, a gentle nudge into settling -- no yielding-- into this concept of calling and being ok with and owning what God has called me to become as I come to understand that better. And to have the Village church and it's leadership there to guide, nurture, and direct me, and even affirm me --I am also grateful for that. The Lord knows what's goin on... because I certainly don't. I would have never asked for the task that has laid at my feet. I'm simply clay and along for this most amazing ride.
Tomorrow is Paul's funeral, and Paul was a preacher too.
Whats funny: God is all up in that.
December 2007, my grandparents were buried together. Married sixty-nine and a half years, they died twenty-two hours apart. I spoke at their funeral, a funeral that had (and not because of me, but them) everyone --even the staff- in tears. The last thing my dying Sweet and Precious Grandmother Taylor said to me was, "I just want to know you are going home with me."
It was a love story that had me speak at that podium. It was at that very moment and through their story the Lord truly began to pull on my heart strings. Tomorrow, I will be speaking for a man I hated at the same podium, in the same room I spoke in for my grandparent's funeral.
You see, the day Paul died, I was actually on my way to see him. It was probably the first time I ever wanted to see that man. Why? It hit me that Christ sees him just like he sees me--spotless and blameless-- and I had to lay that at the cross.
He died ten minutes before I arrived.
My grandmother was a part of this. Paul was a part of this. Paul was an instrument to teach me Mercy. And by this I intend the big picture. Like even Mary Poppins knew -- I can't see past the end of my nose. All in his time, his plan, his design. And how sweet it is indeed that my mouth will open in testament to a dying woman's prayer, that her gandbaby would 'come home' with her and to honor a man it was no secret I hated.
Eyebrows will be raised. But then again, Jesus has a way of doing just that, particularly with men named Paul.
Oh, I so did not want to be awake. The twitch that surfaced as I launched my own business (ie, sleepless nights and long hours) in 2008 had returned in my right eye, and when that happens, folks: I'm exhausted.
So I thought perhaps I needed to pray because at this point, prayer seemed unreal. It was weird to pray. I prayed. Still I couldn't sleep. Stubborn and tired, I wasn't going to give in easily, but at last I relented, and as I fumbled through my living room in the dark, and something told me to open the bible.
Finding the closest chair in my kitchen, I sat down at my kitchen table in the same chair I seem to always have these kinds of moments in. My mother's bible she had given me that very day was lying on the table, and so naturally, I grabbed it. As I sleepily gazed at it, my hand on top of its torn burgundy leather cover, a memory was given to me. See, I don't remember much of my childhood at all really, but the tabs. The gold tabs on the side of my mother's Thompson Chain-Reference Bible (which the nerd in me adores,btw), sent me into the memory that although they looked stiff and pokey, they were rather soft, and I would strum them, like strings of guitar. In church. I had forgotten that entirely. And then it hit me:This is your mother's first bible. Be careful.
Distinctly -- I swear-- I heard that.
The weight of that was tremendous to me in general, but particularly at 2am when already I was already tired. What did this mean? Do not hand your own daughter your story of feeling neglected for church. For me, this bible represented a lot of hurt. That memory wrapped in the sense of neglect was lonely at my kitchen table, tired, at 2am.
Heavy, huh? Well, there's more.
And that's when I opened to Romans. The purpose in that evening, as I look back on it, was to reveal the pace at which the Lord would have me set. It was one of the first peeks into revelation that would happen (as Matt Chandler so eloquently put it this very day as he shared my story at a conference) at the pace of a "six lane super highway." I couldn't help but laugh, because it is so true, and I would just like to thank him here for that small affirmation that I am not, in fact, losing my mind. That small comment really meant the world to me as a gal livin just that -- things of all sizes, shapes, even weights. By "things" I mean godwinks, philosophy, theology, gifts, fear, past, future, success, the why behind a personality I've just lived with for 32 years that all of a sudden --snap-- I understand. Coming to see the why in all of that, all thrown at me, all at once, and none of it by my choosing. None of it. Ok, can you imagine in one day, being introduced to Mark Driscoll at 8am via youtube and finding yourself in a food pantry later that same day just to prepare you for the ultimate, end result of this hard to hear truth you knew you had to share, but was told not to share just yet? But I get ahead of my story. It is hard to handle, much less swallow --and keep your head low. But it is, admittedly, never boring and so much fun.
I read Romans 1:8-13 and simply wept. That was my introduction to Romans, the reveal of my literal hearts desire. Right there, in this book, which happened to be written by a fella named Paul. And I wondered who this Paul was, and I wondered if it had anything to do with the Paul I knew, and the Paul I --honestly--hated.
I knew it did, and in the coming months, I could catch snippets of how I would come to understand the role of both Pauls, and how they would affect my life.
It wasn't until Saturday, March 24 2012 at 2:45pm, I came to understand this better. Honestly, I will not completely understand this story until tomorrow at 4pm when I attend this Paul I knew, this Paul I hated, this Paul's funeral.
Yes, his funeral. At which I will speak.
Hence why I haven't written. It has been a fast and furious week, especially in light of the Lord's timing and his reveal of several factors coming into play presently and (as usual) all at the same time, this fast paced six lane super highway Matt explained today. For the past two days I have experienced my first Acts 29 Bootcamp. You see, Matt was speaking to a room full of church planters, potential planters, preachers, seminary students, and those simply called to be there. In that, I find it no accident, again per Acts 17, I have been placed there, to glean from these minds, and even, as was apparently laid on Matt's heart, to water the souls of the planters there and encourage them with my story, pressing the point that God saves. People don't. To set up his point, he used my story as a visual aid for Romans 8:28-39, and that to me was so priceless, I weep even now thinking on it. A wonderful teacher, Connor Bales, is going through the book of Romans, and I learned that Romans is historically the crown of the bible, and Romans 8 considered the crown jewel itself, if you will. For this story to be placed as an example between the two verses that every Christian loves to quote but negate the middle context that glue these truths together is, for me, a gentle nudge into settling -- no yielding-- into this concept of calling and being ok with and owning what God has called me to become as I come to understand that better. And to have the Village church and it's leadership there to guide, nurture, and direct me, and even affirm me --I am also grateful for that. The Lord knows what's goin on... because I certainly don't. I would have never asked for the task that has laid at my feet. I'm simply clay and along for this most amazing ride.
Tomorrow is Paul's funeral, and Paul was a preacher too.
Whats funny: God is all up in that.
December 2007, my grandparents were buried together. Married sixty-nine and a half years, they died twenty-two hours apart. I spoke at their funeral, a funeral that had (and not because of me, but them) everyone --even the staff- in tears. The last thing my dying Sweet and Precious Grandmother Taylor said to me was, "I just want to know you are going home with me."
It was a love story that had me speak at that podium. It was at that very moment and through their story the Lord truly began to pull on my heart strings. Tomorrow, I will be speaking for a man I hated at the same podium, in the same room I spoke in for my grandparent's funeral.
You see, the day Paul died, I was actually on my way to see him. It was probably the first time I ever wanted to see that man. Why? It hit me that Christ sees him just like he sees me--spotless and blameless-- and I had to lay that at the cross.
He died ten minutes before I arrived.
My grandmother was a part of this. Paul was a part of this. Paul was an instrument to teach me Mercy. And by this I intend the big picture. Like even Mary Poppins knew -- I can't see past the end of my nose. All in his time, his plan, his design. And how sweet it is indeed that my mouth will open in testament to a dying woman's prayer, that her gandbaby would 'come home' with her and to honor a man it was no secret I hated.
Eyebrows will be raised. But then again, Jesus has a way of doing just that, particularly with men named Paul.
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