Yesterday evening, I had the pleasure of joining some dear friends of mine for a young adult gathering with Grace Church, the church Josh and I attended previously and plan on attending in the near future. Although I have missed a lot of recent activity with them because of my responsibility elsewhere, I always know that getting together with the young adults of Grace Church means the Holy Spirit is going to come, and I will experience with them the presence of God and His transformational power.
If you didn't catch that, I'm saying that I bawl like a baby almost every time I go. That, or dance around like a nut. We're talking raw, uncontained worship. It's seriously awesome.
So, last night, Josh and I set out for Spring Hill. On our way, he wanted to listen to a sermon, but I don't seem to be able to handle his typical podcast sermon at the moment. The best way I can describe it is to quote Josh's mother explaining to me once that, "Sometimes I can't handle loud and intense worship or church, because I'm so broken that it just causes me to cry. Sometimes, I just need gentle and quiet, to know God loves and hears me."
When I explained this to Josh, he offered to change the sermon to a Joel Osteen message.
[disclaimer]
I am not really a Joel Osteen fan. He's usually pretty cheesy, and I typically prefer sermons with some meat to them - you know, more like... my dad, or Lindell Cooley. And much less cheese. However...
[end disclaimer]
I needed that yesterday. The only Joel Osteen sermon available on podcast was actually a New Year's sermon, bringing in 2011. We didn't quite finish it, but I listened for about 20 minutes to someone reminding me that it is God's will that we prosper - not like the health-and-wealth kind of prosperity, necessarily, but the kind of prosperity that means we grow spiritually and experience the very best God has for us.
It's not God's will that I stay depressed forever. I have to be willing, then, to stay alert for when God says, "Move," or, "Go."
Needless to say, it was what I needed to hear yesterday. It is, unfortunately, easy to forget sometimes that God is truly on my side.
I'm so affected by other people, and as much as it's drilled into us that we can't let other people's opinions or actions affect us, full-time ministry actually hinges a lot on whether or not people like us. My recent experience is a testament to it - regardless of how good a job you do or how hard you try, if people aren't on your side, you can fail.
But when God is on your side, it doesn't matter if people push you away or mistreat you, because He always works together good for those who love Him.
[I'm sure at this point you're saying, "Okay, Rebekah, what in the world does all this have to do with hugs?" Well, I'm getting there. Stick with me.]
We arrived at Derek and Julie's house for GCYA. After sharing a meal together, we begin with a time of music and prayer. I immediately knew something was off (probably to be expected), because while during these times, I'm normally unable to contain myself from singing and lifting my hands, I sat still, staring at the floor, while everyone around me began to worship.
Have you ever seen Galaxy Quest?
There's a scene in the movie where Tim Allen is sent from the alien spaceship back to Earth in a goo container. (Yes, that is the technical term.) The jelly-like substance around him apparently protects him from the non-oxygen-ness of space (and, presumably, the cold) as he hurtles back to his planet. When he arrives back at his house, the goo sort of slides off of him until he is freed from it.
Look, here's a picture!
I felt like I had this goo covering me last night. Actually, the visualization of this in my head was almost funny enough to make me laugh, except for the fact that I felt so distanced from what was going on around me. It was as if nothing could penetrate this invisible prison.
Basically, it felt horrible.
[side note]
I think, given the nature of what is bothering me so much, that music in worship will be the hardest thing for me to find joy in again. I'm not quite so distressed by Bible study or most other kinds of non-music-related worship. But music is hard - every few minutes, I'd find myself thinking something like, "Oh, that song would work really well at church," only to remember I don't have a music ministry anymore. This is definitely going to be a process - falling in love with worship music again isn't going to be easy.
[end side note]
After we finished singing, Julie (one of the owners of the house, and also one of our young adult groups' leaders) said she would like for people who were experiencing particularly difficult seasons in their lives to come to the middle of the living room so they could be surrounded by prayers.
DING DING DING. That's me.
Josh squeezed my foot when she made this declaration, fully aware that I am not usually a big fan of being in the center of a prayer circle. He knew, as well as I, that there was no way I was volunteering myself for this. Then, she said those terrifyingly magic words,
"I'm warning you now, if I know you're going through something, I'm just going to call you out."
And whose name would be first, but mine?
(No one's, that's why I'm telling you this story.)
Grudgingly, I rose to the center of the room, with about 5 or 6 other women. The ones of us in the center held hands while the people surrounding us laid hands on our shoulders or backs and began to pray.
Well, they prayed. I stared at the floor some more. The human contact was nice, though. (My love language is touch. 'Nuff said.)
[disclaimer]
I don't care if you think I'm weird. If you have a problem with the Holy Spirit moving in ways you don't understand, that's your problem, not mine. So stop reading and go pray.
No, but for real.
[end disclaimer]
After a few minutes, some of the people around me shifted, and Julie came around behind me and began to pray for me. She started making the weirdest movement with her hand on my back, like she was pulling something away from me. I don't know how else to describe what happened next but that it was like she was pulling off that weird gooey prison from me. I seriously felt it leave my body, and as soon as it did, I got colder, because I could actually feel the air from the fan above me that I hadn't been able to feel before. I started getting the tinglies I sometimes feel when men and women of God are praying for me.
And I could finally pray.
I started to ask God why it is He had led me into a place just to be rejected by it, why this amount of pain had to be part of the process. And, most importantly of all, (at least to me), I wanted to know why they didn't like me.
As soon as I said this phrase in my head, another amazing friend that was standing next to me, Alaina, released my hand, turned to me, and hugged me.
I don't know that I've ever known that much for sure that God really does love me. All of me, with every fault and personality flaw, every part of me that I secretly loathe, and all my thoughts and dreams and hopes and doubts - He loves me. Period.
We need more hug ministry. Sometimes, that's what it takes. There are so many times that words are inadequate to express how we feel or what we need to say. Those are the times the silent gestures mean so much more, because they say much more than words ever could.
As Alaina hugged me and quietly prayed for me, I began to cry. I heard Derek, Julie's husband, praying to my left, saying, "Show her she belongs."
God is so much smarter than me. He knows exactly what I need, and when I need it. At this point, I did not need an eloquent, 45-minute sermon, or a drawn-out music set. I needed a hug and a few words. And I needed the faith of my friends that God was going to bring me the peace I so desperately desired.
Next time you have a friend who is suffering and you don't know what to say... give them a hug.
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