Directing the Music*

I left my church last fall. The idea marched up from my spirit to my head many times over the course of last summer, but I always brushed it aside. However,  in my heart I knew.  It was not just an idea, but a directive; although it made no sense whatsoever to my conscious mind, I know the voice of my Father. I know when He is prompting me to do something, and I also know when He is directing me to do something, and this was a directive.

I was at a comfortable place in my spiritual walk, singing in the choir and leading the ladies class for the past eight years; I had just completed a series of teachings on Wednesday nights, and could think of no earthly reason why I needed to leave.

But there it was, the writing on the wall. The instruction from the Lord of my life, telling me to leave. The ladies in my class did not understand; they were blindsided, and some of them clung to me sobbing. I couldn’t explain it to them, because I didn’t understand it myself. My pastor was equally shocked, and not supportive of my decision. He thought I was leaving to attend another church, but I assured him that wasn’t the case.  My precious Sissy was heartbroken, but she loves me unconditionally and supported me totally. I didn’t understand; I only knew that I could not continue to breathe if I was not obedient. And so I left.

I had no particular direction, so the first Sunday morning that I was home I watched a well-known pastor on TV. After Chuck left for his own church services, I put on some music and just began to worship. After a time,I heard my Father speak.  He whispered one simple word into my heart: "Unforgiveness."

"Lord, You can’t mean me," I countered. "I don’t have any unforgiveness."  After a moment, there it came again: "Unforgiveness." I searched my heart and my head and could truly find no one that I thought I hadn’t forgiven. Finally, "Show me, Lord," I told Him.

It was as if the floodgates of heaven itself had opened. Pouring into my mind was a stream of names and faces and situations, coming so fast and so furiously that I found myself on the floor. In rapid succession, He began to show me one after another, until I could no longer breathe. When He was finally finished, I could only lay on my face and sob. I was undone.

A total of eight names He had brought before me; people who had hurt me in the past. Some of them hadn’t even hurt me directly, but had hurt other people whom I love deeply.  There was a woman from church whom I had mentored for years, investing countless hours counseling and loving her, even allowing her and her daughter to move in with us for a time. After all this, she had knowingly entered into an adultrous relationship, even calling me to tell me about it. When I confronted her, she simply said, "Well, when I’m finished I’ll ask God to forgive me and He will." I had washed my hands of her.

There was my ex-sister in law, who had cooly informed my brother (her husband of 23 years) that she was flying across the country to consumate her relationship with an old friend she had reconnected with online. There was Chuck’s sister, who had wounded me deeply in front of his entire family while we were planning his mother’s funeral.  

On and on the list went, carrying me down a path from my past where dark feelings still lurked around every corner. I was carrying unforgiveness for these people, and wasn’t even aware. Over the course of time I had disguised it, and called it something else. I had lulled myself into thinking I merely had a personality conflict with them, or that they just didn’t like me. I had shut myself off from these people, and constructed walls so they couldn’t hurt me again.

Unforgiveness.

I don’t know how long I lay there on the floor, asking God to forgive me. My heart was truly broken, but I knew He was right. Just because I had called it something else did not negate the fact that it was truly unforgiveness, living right there in my heart along with everything else I believed. He had brought me to my knees; He had wounded me and was now about to heal me.

I went outside and gathered up eight good-sized rocks. Sitting down with a permanent marker, I wrote one name on each one of them; the name of someone who had hurt me and whom I had not forgiven. When I was finished, I put the rocks in a basket and drove down to the river.

Climbing down the steep bank to the edge of the rushing water, I took each rock out one by one. I talked with my Father about each one, telling Him what they had done to me and why it hurt me so. I told Him it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair and that it hurt. He agreed with me. "No, it wasn’t right. And I know you were so hurt. But it’s time to let those offenses go." And so I did.

Under the deep blue of an autumn sky, I flung each of those rocks far out into the deep water and watched them as they sank to the bottom of the Arkansas River.  "I forgive you, Toni." *SPLASH*  "I forgive you, Teri." *SPLASH* "I forgive you, Alice." *SPLASH*  On and on, a total of eight times, and as each rock sank, I felt my spirit growing lighter and lighter. By the time the last rock disappeared, I could practically run back up that steep riverbank. I knew that I was totally free. In loosening the people that I had held captive in my heart, I had freed myself.</s

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Over the course of the next few months, my Father continued to heal me and minister to me. The feelings did not happen overnight, but gradually my heart began to catch up with my spirit. Finally, in February I knew the time was right for me to return to church. I was welcomed back with open arms, just like the prodigal son returning.  I sat in my ladies class as a participant rather than a leader, and just allowed the teaching of my friend Vicki to wash over me. After a few weeks, when the time was right, she asked me if I would resume leading the class. And with my pastor’s blessing, I have.

The other idea that marched itself up from my spirit to my head happened in January. "Intercessory Prayer Team," He whispered. Again, not so much an idea but a directive that would not go away. I prayed for God’s direction, and I prayed for His timing in which to approach my pastor. After all, I had walked away from this church; why should I be allowed or encouraged to lead another ministry? But I know the voice of my Father, and I know that by calling me away from this church, He was preparing me for another role. The Potter was once again placing me on the potter’s wheel, to smooth me and to reshape me, mending the cracks and remaking me into a vessel more pleasing to Him.

The opportunity to approach my pastor came a couple of weeks ago. When I told him that I felt led to start a prayer team on Monday nights, his words were, "Do it!"  My goal is to bring together a group of commited prayer warriors who will pray for our pastor and his family, our leaders, and the needs of this body of believers. I know in my spirit that I was brought through the refiner’s fire in order to do this next work. We have our first meeting next Monday, and I covet your prayers for this next chapter. The desire of my heart is to be a willing vessel, fit for whatever purpose my Father decides.

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I can’t close this entry without a few pictures of my beloved Emmi. She has fit into our lives so easily, and now it’s hard to imagine life without her.

Not a fan of being one month old!

Story time with dad.

Love this sweet angelic face!

Seriously thinking about these guitar jammies.

Six weeks old, on Easter Sunday