Dead, irrelevant, demonic. NOT.
I almost talked myself out of this post.
“It’s too revealing.”
“No one is interested in that.”
“Even if they’re interested, it wouldn’t be useful or encouraging.”
“Vain conceit, Karen, vain conceit.”
“You’re presuming a lot to think that anyone would want to hear ‘wisdom’ from you.”
“How can you teach what you only barely learned? And did you really learn it anyway?”
“Remember all the other blog posts where you thought you’d stumbled onto something deep and powerful, and you poured out your heart into it, and no one commented? Yeah, this would be like that.”
“Do you really need to turn every bit of your life into a blog post? You spend too much time thinking about your blog. You should keep some stuff private.”
After church on Sunday… well, let me back up a bit.
During worship on Sunday morning, I had a little revelation from God. I love it how the same God, the same God who has been through all the ages, can whisper a a few words in my heart, and it is new, exciting, fresh, and just what I needed. He’s the same yesterday, today, and forever, but fresh at the same time.
The revelation — those whispers — came after I had spent a good amount of time in awe, in repentance, on my face, with snot and tears dripping onto the carpet of the church. Funny, that: He seems to speak most profoundly, with spectacular, divine insight, right after I’ve repented. Hmm…
After worship, I scribbled a bit of what He’d spoken to me on a scrap paper dug from the recesses of my purse. The thought hit me, “I bet lots of women experience that same thing. I should write a blog post about it.” Immediately afterward came those questioning thoughts, and I put the plans for a blog post out of my mind as, “Well, God likely gave that just to me, for me, not to share.”
I left early from the adult service to go into SuperChurch to lead the 6-12 year olds in some worship that was deep and powerful and fun and rockin’. 🙂 (Helped exceedingly by drummer extraordinaire, Bobby Flanagan.) When I got back into the main service, it was mostly wrapped up, except for a bit of ministry, with some live worship (led by my amazing husband, my favorite worship leader ever)… Folks were milling around a bit, some praying for others, some standing or sitting, some — like me — participating in one way or another in worship, some just chatting. I settled into a seat on the front row and closed my eyes, hands loose on my lap. Then I remembered I had children, opened my eyes, and looked back at the clock. “OK. I still have five minutes before I need to pick them up. I’ll just soak this in for a bit. Five minutes…”
Then, a lady came up to me. I know her just a little; I was in small group with her for part of last year. However, I don’t know her well, and she doesn’t know me well. For instance, I’m pretty certain she doesn’t know I have a blog, or that I write. And, I’m 100% certain that she had no idea, personally, what had been rumbling through my heart and head and spirit that morning. She placed her hand gently on my shoulder and started to speak to me. “Karen, I really feel like God wants to tell you something important. He says, ‘Do not doubt the words in your mind; they are to be encouragement for others. I call that out of you, draw those words out of you. They are not of your own strength, but of mine. May grace be multiplied to you so that you can do what I have called you to do.'”
Every time I read or hear about the prophetic being dead or irrelevant or even demonic… It’s just like water off of a duck’s back. How could I ever believe that the prophetic — when it’s really of God, and for His purposes — is anything but jaw-droppingly amazing and wonderful and need-meeting??? When you experience something like that, the negative things others say regarding the prophetic simply don’t matter in the presence of my almighty God, knowing my “stuff”, knowing my heart, seeing my need, and meeting it with another member of the Body of Christ (which brings up a whole ‘nother topic: the beauty and power and purpose of the local church body, and the wider Christian Church).
I looked in her eyes and said, “Thank you. That was right on and I so needed that.” As she walked away, I pulled the scrap of paper from my jeans pocket and wrote down everything I could remember of what she said, so it would stay fresh in my mind and not be lost in the sieve of my memory, nor plucked from my thoughts by the enemy, who would surely assault these words with the same doubt as he did the first set of words.
And now, this is a post in itself, and I’ll have to save what I confessed, and what God spoke to me in return, for another day. Hopefully tomorrow.