a Brief Distraction

I'm waiting for the Hunger Games midnight premier.  No, i haven't read the books, and no, I'm not in costume.  It's just a good excuse to do something fun with friends.  Right this very moment I am sitting outside of a closed Barnes and Noble, taking a break from writing a blog on the purposeless nature of the church (yeah, brace yourselves),  and thus, this story from the past week is a brief distraction.  Which, I think, is also why so many people are waiting outside Palmetto Grande an hour before the movies starts.  They are looking for a distraction.  I know because I often want one, and few distractions are better than an alternate world where we see the good win over inestimable odds, all in less than an hour.  Still, you're left with that 'if only I was a part of something like that' feeling. Alas, I digress.  Back to the story.

I arrived to Wednesday night worship at St. Andrews late, as usual.  Coming from worship practice with the highschool folk, I'm usually enjoying some conversation with them well past 6:30.  This week was no exception.  A great conversation.  Alas, I digress.

I went into worship.  I didn't feel enthrallment with the Lord, even much desire for Him.  I hate it, but that is not unusual for me, which you should know.  I fought the battle in my head once again.  Am I a hypocrite if I raise my hands when I'm not feeling anything?  If I sit down, would standing get my heart more involved?  I stood, I raised my hands.  I was tired, but pressing in past emotional stalemate.  Such is faith, I think.  That's what God's been teaching me, of late.  Alas, I digress.

Anyway, the speaker began teaching on centering prayer.  She was narrowing down to her focus, but I was tired of waiting and ready for God to move.  And, I'd heard it before.  My dad's taught on centering prayer, I've heard of breathing prayer, the Jesus prayer.  I shut my eyes to center, to listen.  And immediately a picture flashed in my mind.  It was a river in a clay/mud/sand plain that had eroded its banks such that they fell away at least four or five feet on each side, washed out to the point of near-collapse.  Everything including the river was an orange-tinged brown, and monochromatic foam and rubble floated downstream to the right in drifts and piles.

I looked up at the speaker, but the image seemed important, like it might have been God speaking.  So, I went back to it and asked God what He wanted to share.  It seemed like the river symbolized me, somehow, but what were the drifts?  Did they mean something?

I was thinking about this, waiting on the Lord, when suddenly I heard the speaker say, very clearly, "So, you see a river, and there's a lot of debris floating down it."  I almost fell out of the pew.  It was as though she had read my mind.  Part of centering prayer, as she went on to explain, was allowing your distractions to drift away, using a word or a phrase to bring your mind to center.  That is, to the acknowledgement of God's presence and love.

I dove in.  I chose the word 'presence', because it is what I want to know so badly.  And so we waiting.  As I spoke the word, the plain turned green, and my view turned upstream where the debris was becoming less and less.  And as I spoke, the plain to the left formed a soft rise.  And on the rise, I think.  Was Jesus.  He wasn't looking at me, but he was calling those around me to Him.

I think as I work through more Ananias prayer stuff, learning to forgive myself and walk in freedom, I expect to see him looking at me more and more.  But, in any case, it was a beautiful moment, and a sweet reminder that the Lord is guiding my steps.  Even when I feel nothing, even when I am not expecting, or not perceiving, He is moving, and calling me.  The process not, is learning to see distractions and let them drift away, to the right and out of view, as my eyes shift left and look to my Lord.

Jesus, would you continue to call me to Yourself.  Would you remind me of Your love for me, of my oft' buried love for you.  Teach me to lay aside those things which steal my attention.  Teach me to see Your face, turned towards me.  I turn to You.  I know You, and press on to know You, for you have made me Your own.  Thank you.