I realize I never got a chance to say anything about the Passion and Purity conference I went to near St. Cloud during the first weekend of November, but there's really only one thing I want and have time to put forth in regard to that, at the moment: at some point on Friday night, an image of my heart encased in shiny metal was revealed to me--my heart was hard. At first it was discouraging, but I accepted that God was going to work in me and help me remove that metal, to soften my heart, if I was willing to ask him, to work towards that end. I drew a picture of it in my journal; one tiny section of flesh near the left ventricle (my left) was free, and as the weeks passed chunks of metal began to fall away. Nothing truly momentous occurred to me as this happened, and yet I saw my heart be freed and grow softer, in my mind. I will return to this momentarily.
Over the course of the past few weeks, I've been increasingly homesick--and physically sick, for one of those weeks. During this time, I've had a flood of memories hit me at seemingly-random times during the day, concerning anything from past Christmas events to Rwanda to good times had with my ex-boyfriend. While they made me smile at first, all these memories ended up troubling me more than anything, saddened that those time are now irretrievable, essentially. I thought that God was trying to tell me something, but I still haven't figured it out.
At a bible study last week, we talked about hearing God's voice--how to, what it sounds like, how to respond. Of course no one could give any definitive answers to these questions, but it sparked my intellect, if that makes sense. I went on to engage in what may be termed a superficially philosophical, however brief, discussion (via text/Facebook) with a friend who I did not see as someone actively following Christ, and was pleasantly surprised by their insights and recognition of God as having spoken to them during their lifetime so far. The next day I was equally pleased that I was able to broach the subject in my Buddhist Philosophy class, drawing parallels between the processes of teaching doctrine to unbelievers or skeptics, which led to a short conversation with a fellow classmate I did not know very well, though I had seen her multiple times at a Christian organization event. So these were good things that came out of a great bible study. But that same night, when we were closing in prayer, we all huddled together as usual, and as soon as I closed my eyes, I had the very distinct sensation of someone prodding the backs of my knees, causing them to bend. I didn't want to open my eyes and turn around, for whatever reason (maybe I thought I would be distracted, but then I ended up being distracted throughout the whole prayer anyway, trying to figure it out), so I tried to think of who it could be. My first guess was a visiting alumna who has a sort of prank-ish disposition. Then I had the same sensation again in my right knee. I said to myself, it's a good thing I have two people on either side of me holding me up right now, or I might have fallen over! It was odd, but I imagined that it had been the round end of a crutch that had poked me; there is a young man in our congregation that walks with crutches due to severe lower body paralysis, but I knew he was on the other side of the circle, he was definitely not the type of person to do that to someone who had only exchanged a few words with him, and I would have heard him, besides. I wracked my brain, but when the prayer was over, I turned around to see the two girls I had been sitting next to earlier, who I had never met. One was crying. I hesitated, then asked if either of them had touched the backs of my knees. They said no. I looked around for anyone else looking guilty--and saw no one. My heart beat faster and my face got hot. Was this really God?
As I mentioned this event to a few friends, I got various responses: God wants you on your knees, God wanted you to see those girls (I regret not having talked to either of them, actually), etc. Again, I have yet to come to a definitive conclusion.
Back up a few days. I went to meet with a Christian org that I haven't attended much (just started a few weeks ago, sporadically), but couldn't find them in their usual spot. As I was looking for them, I ran into a friend who was just finishing working out, and we ended up talking for some 10 or 15 minutes about war and truth and how it all worked in God's plan. We were puzzled, to say the least, so my friend says, "I feel like God really wants us to be in the word right now," and, in classic Minnesotan fashion, "you know what I mean?" So we gathered our things, went to a quiet place and prayed/mulled over what to read. I let my fingers move over the pages of my bible and ended up with three passages: Ezekiel 47, Job 31, and Luke 19. I'll let you look into those chapters, but what I drew from this session and the Word was this: I need to reflect on how I spend my wealth--spiritual or financial, I'm not sure, but probably both--I need to be more compassionate, and I need to not be afraid of people seeing my sin. Also, from Ezekiel, there is the important image of a tree with fruit that "will serve for food and leaves...for healing" (verse 12). I think we all need to be that tree.
Yesterday: I experienced a number of computer/software problems that did not really get resolved and took most of the day. I lost five hours of work that had taken time from the more "academic" work that I could have been doing during that time, but I did essentially redo it in about an hour and half, simplifying the project and using a different program. However, I then spent more time with other unrelated computer issues that are still causing problems, and I could potentially lose a lot of important data. When I realized this, I teared up a bit and set my head on my computer. (I had also done a time trial for skiing that morning and, while it was fun at the time, I fell twice in the first lap of four and later found out that I got last on my team.) Needless to say, I was stressed, and decided, okay, it's time to read my bible. I hadn't even really thought about God all day. I ended up reading a chapter from my roommate's book, The Purpose-Driven Life, written by Rick Warren. I can't recall what I read at the moment, but I remember it was uplifting and led to some much needed worship (I hadn't played my guitar in weeks).
And now we come to today. At Two Rivers Vineyard Church in Mankato, there was a baptism service (geared towards children, although two adult women were also baptized). In the worship beforehand, I noticed a girl sitting in front of me, probably 8 or 9 years old: she was flinging her hands out before her and sort of dancing around a little bit in praise. I was surprised at how this moved me, as I've never been particularly fond of working with children, though I smile at them from afar. She then sat down for the next song and seemed very quiet, though she had her back to me. I found myself in awe of how intentionally she worshiped, how intentional her posture was, as this was something we had discussed at Prepare or Cru or something like that a few weeks before. And this girl was younger than 10! So as the baptisms came around--there were seven people, let it be noted--and each person told their story (or those with stage fright had a parent do it), I found myself tearing up with joy and awe and gratitude for God and his unending and unfailing grace and love. All these young people, so on fire...and so supported by older members of the church.
--*I want to break in here for a moment and say that before Rwanda, I never saw myself as an emotional person. In example, when I visited the wreckage of the World Trade Center on a choir trip in 2006, and both our director and choir "president" told everyone at home that there wasn't a tear-less face in sight, I took offense; I wasn't crying! I almost took pride in the fact that I didn't cry as much as others. I was "strong." Then Rwanda came, and I guess since then things have changed. At Passion and Purity (P&P) I cried more than I had in a long time, and I again got teary-eyed when my friends--and others I didn't know, from other colleges--got baptized. So with that in mind, let us resume*.--
Although I was proud of the children in an oddly intimate way, I found myself most moved by two people: a woman just 64 days sober who committed herself to rehab and took the step to be baptized this morning, by her sister. It was beautiful. The second instance was actually the first baptism, when one of our male worship leaders baptized his 7 or 8-year-old daughter, and pulled her out of the water up into his arms, not caring that she was getting him soaking wet too, in his nicer-than-usual clothes. And at that moment when the baptisms were finished, I realized...I LOVE baptism. It may seem like kind of a weird thing to say--I would've thought so myself a year or two ago--but it's so true. I absolutely love seeing people be joined with Christ in such a symbolic way, to be joined with me, even if I never talk to them! It's crazy to me, but I felt connection with those people--in Christ--so substantially that I wanted to reach out and touch them, and say welcome to the body of Christ. We've been waiting for you.
One other thing that happened at church today (two actually): during the ending prayer, I was standing in the back and one of our school's professors' 2-year old started banging on something. I smiled as a few other people chuckled softly, and then I noticed something. In rhythm with her banging, I saw a hammer pounding down the piece of metal that had been hanging off my heart. (I forgot to mention: yesterday, as I was reading the Purpose-Driven Life, I saw some more metal fall away, or bend back at least, from my heart with a wrenching sound; I actually heard the sound of the metal bending in my mind. This was the piece of metal being hammered off.) It's still hanging on, but I made a connection in that moment; first I asked God to take hold of the hammer, as I've had to remind myself to let go and let God, not trying to take things into my own hands, then I thought, is it children? Is that why I read about compassion in Job? About not withholding [spiritual] wealth in Luke? Is this why I've been thinking about the children in Rwanda so much, about my own childhood memories? Is this confirmation that I should apply for the JET program next year, since a professor said you've gotta like kids? I don't know. These questions have not yet been fully answered, but I know there's a reason I have them, that I've made connections between my experiences this semester and where my life is headed, however vaguely in my eyes. But no worries--God's got it covered.
So what does it all mean? Why did you just read through that disjointed novel of mine, besides that maybe I asked you to? Well, I don't know. I can tell you I appreciate it. But you know what else? Through all these trials and joyful experiences together, I came to this realization, which I wrote in my journal:
Even when Minnesota doesn't feel like home, when I long for Alaska, Two Rivers gives me peace. It feels like home. God is here. When I am in God's house, I am home.
I am home! "Through the trial and the change, one thing remains: [God's] love never fails"; through the trial and the change, He is with me, and I am home. Always. So wherever I am, and whatever I'm doing, I am in the safest place I will ever be. I am home.
Home is not only where the heart is; it is where God is. And since our hearts, ideally, are with Him, for Him, consumed by Him, well...let's be home. Let's invite people over.
Yeah. Go in His grace :)
