What we Don't Talk About When we Talk about Spiritual Gifts

I'm trying to write a post about miracles and the Holy Spirit and my heart is as anxious as ever. I'm anxious because I know even mentioning those words sends some people into a defensive tailspin and others towards deep awe and worship. Often I don't feel strong enough to step into the divisions that arise. I know the logical arguments for and against the Holy Spirit's manifestations (prophecy, tongues, visions...etc.) but I know laying out the logic won't do anyone any good.

What's a writer to do, then? She pays attention to the disquiet in her heart and writes about something a little more powerful than reason: intimacy.

Behind every opposition to what's good, there's a deep wound:

a denial,

a lost hope,

an unfulfilled longing for intimacy.

That's where I'm starting from. Maybe you don't think wounds and intimacy have anything to do with push back or acceptance of the Holy Spirit. That's fine. But it did for me. Here's my voice in hopes a new perspective will help heal.

(the following is an excerpt from the book I'm working on! Yippee!)

Hesitant and achy I sank into the loveseat in my sophomore dorm room. Much prayer had gone on within those four walls to change the atmosphere from challenging to welcoming. Living alone all semester had drained me. But I befriended the solitude to get by. As an RA, I lived in a single and had finally come to cherish the solitary late nights. My door separated me from my girls hectically getting ready to go out. When they came in my room they’d tell me, “It’s so peaceful in here.” But tonight I knew something was off.

The lighting was soft, my tea was warm, and my journal was just within reach as usual. But long-lost-friend loneliness visited me. Achy from my heavy daily backpack and my racing mind, I couldn’t support myself right; I couldn’t get settled amidst the familiar cushions and my worldview started to slip. My tea ceased to comfort me as tears spilled over. I was so tired of fighting to believe God loved me. I was so exhausted from dealing with my singleness. I was so discouraged from not seeing any of my dreams begin. I was alone, in my beautiful soft lighting surrounded by paintings of scripture, struggling to believe and running out of tissues.

It was in that moment then I felt heat that I wanted to run from. I leaned back, almost angry, and sobbed because the heat was comfort I wasn’t used to. How vulnerable I felt. I saw God’s kind eyes peering into my deepest hurts and His tears were sealing them up anew. I was just sitting with my blanket while the God of the universe set to work mending me. Everything was the same. My lights were soft, my journal unmoved, and my tea held close in my hands. But I was fainting with love. My tears turned into trust and my desire to run left as I was overwhelmed with the presence of God.

That’s what He feels like to me. He feels like heat. He melts my stony heart and calms the dark storms in my mind. It is not just the leafy pages of His Word that wreck and renew me; it's the reeling from experiencing the spiritual that makes me reconsider my life and creates beautiful patchwork out of distressed scraps. The Word is the way I understand what He is capable of; the kind of God He is. I read stories of angels talking to people like me, of ocean waters defying gravity, of fire consuming water, of the dead raising to life and I believe these stories. And I believe God is just as close to us now as He was then.

As I shared this story of feeling God's heat with others, I learned they've also felt God's heat before. I learned they've also seen God's eyes weep with them over their travesties. I learned that God is still very much in the business of renewing His children and world.

And I learned that He wants us to watch Him be Him because He's beautiful.

I read in the Word that God is good, that He is a jealous bridegroom, and that Jesus gave us the Holy Spirit when He left the world so we could commune with Him. I notice in my own heart that I desperately want God to interact with my body, my emotions, my dreams, my mind, and my hopes. I realize I've believed God has let me down and that keeps me from receiving love. I try to agree with the Word that He is love and He is good and that He wants intimacy with me much more than I allow myself to believe.

My wounds came from believing God wouldn't let me experience every part of Him while He still asked for every part of me.

My healing came from believing He's ready to rush me with overwhelming love and the miraculous if only I would dare to hope and expect Him to.

And now I hear Him in my head. He says He loves me, He trusts me, He protects me. He helps me say the words others need to hear and gives me poetry and songs to write.

And now I speak a heavenly language. I join in a mystery that keeps me living by faith and leaning not on my own understanding.

And now I've watched my prayers banish a stomach ache, a hurting IT band, and other bodily pains. I get to see joy spill over someone's face as they accept more intimacy from God.

And now I love Him more than I have before because I've received Him more than I've ever thought was possible.

And that's really the point.

Kansas City, MO for One Thing conference through International House of Prayer

I cannot be in a room with 15,000 other believers who pray for the healing of the deaf, the blind, the crippled, and those with cutting scars, watch it all happen, and be farther from God. (Yes, I witnessed these things at at conference a few days ago.)

I cannot be in a room with Catholics and Protestants all worshipping together and uniting through prayer and prophecy and conclude I've been deceived. (This also happened.)

I cannot sit next to a touched and crying girl as someone prophesies God's care for her and deny God's specific, individual care for us. (Her name was Jane.)

I cannot be in a room of 100 all speaking and singing in tongues together and have doubt in God. (Coolest sound ever).

Don't think about the gifts for awhile; think about God's intimacy with us.

With you.

Don't think about the science for awhile; think about God's goodness and how love is actually the fabric of the laws of nature.

His love for you.

Don't think about giving yourself over before you believe He's already given Himself to you.

Completely. Wholly. Ferociously. Wildly.

He's intimately yours. See what that does to your wounds.