the custodian just left and

as he did, he leaned in to my office with his hand on the doorknob and said a very curious "You take care" with a nod and a stiff chin.  He repeated it later, after he asking what's going on in the building tonight. I felt thoroughly bewildered. Thoroughly.
First, I thought something like, what was THAT about...?
Second, in imagining what circumstances would evoke that comment, I thought, how could he possibly know??
And then third, with some kind of gulp and quickly widened eyes, I thought, oh.


Gulp. Maybe I wasn't as discreet as I thought I was. Leaving the light on was a rookie mistake. I just didn't want to get up and hit the switch. A custodian would instinctively let himself into an empty office with a light on to extinguish it. But, if the custodian had peered through the window first and seen two Chuck Taylors poking out, he might deduce that the office's user was indeed still there, sat on the floor with her back against the door.
Maybe he could hear me. Maybe he could see me in the reflection from the big window opposite the door. Maybe the Holy Spirit revealed it to him through intuition! Maybe he happened to look in at the moment a full tissue went flying across the room and missed the bin.


And then my next weird realisation is what prompted me to make a visit to blogger.com. Next to the Lord, it's possible that our custodian here is the person who has the best idea of how often I cry because he's the one who empties my very fluffy, very light rubbish bin. There it is. Weird thought.



And today, it was sin. Today I was moved to tears because I couldn't see anything lower than my thigh for all the sin I'm standing in. I mean, my heart... it has evil desires and I don't always say no to them. Today I cried because I could see my big mess!



Who but this Jehovah...who but YHWH can convict me of sin so that I feel like I'm literally writhing to avoid looking at it soberly, and have me cry out for help from it, knowing I don't deserve the help, knowing only He can do it... and it all culminates in worship?

I just don't understand. I mean, I get it because that's just how it goes in this Christian life but I'm still amazed. I felt terrible sitting there, unable to move and unable to temper the ugly truth. It's heavy. And there's (already) SO MUCH heaviness around. But the Lord, even though today He seemed a little more like He wasn't next to me with an arm round but was across the room in tough love, He makes the tough things doable. He winks and "impossible" loses its prefix.


Just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do; for it is written: "Be holy because I am holy."

 Peter, you dole out a lot of tall orders.


Sigh. Yesterday's sermon seemed to come out of nowhere. I think I plumb forgot what usually comes from the pulpit at Crestwicke Baptist Church.


The thing was so heavy, so tough, so unrelenting, and so demanding that it really felt like an old-fashioned pummeling against the ropes. I thought we were already there! I thought that was the norm I had acclimatised to but no. But no! There is more refining to be done. Ouch. [Ha. I actually said "ouch" aloud during the sermon without thinking about it because the pastor had crossed the line into real-life "you're cutting corners on the Lord's statutes" examples. It was kind of great.]



Even now, I'm still squirming. It's awkward, having a perfect mirror held up and having the Holy Spirit Clockwork Orange your eyes open.



I was highly pleased and blessed to find that virtually everyone in the small group I attend was feeling the same way. Seemed like everyone had the "augh..!" in their voice or on their face that is pain in every feelable muscle after a long overdue workout. "We gotta do better, guys," hung in the air over our whole discussion as we met that evening.



And, as much as I like making people squirm with genuine compliments, this week I wouldn't have told the pastor how much I appreciated his gifting, hard work, and passion for what he does. This week I didn't go out of my way to shake his hand in wordless appreciation.


No, this week I wanted to tell him (hoping I had the foundation of all the other sincere compliments and handshakes of the past in my favor) that I was convinced the Holy Spirit was the one doing the preaching because he's (the pastor is) not that good. This week, that's how it made sense to me.


I am a bit at a loss for words. God is incredible. God is good. He works on us. He works in us. He works with us. He works through us, imagine! He builds His Church. He breaks down and binds up. He draws people together and draws people to Himself. He helps us to do the very thing(s) with our life that we ought.



I liked the part, after the service concluded and I was standing at the covered piano, tapping my fingers and staring into space, hoping I would look like I was about to be busy or at least that I shouldn't be bothered, where someone came up--a fellow smoupite--and MUCH to my delight and relief began speaking about the service. Yes, she started talking about the music and then when I spoke of the sermon--just mentioned it--we both did the "YEAH" with big eyes and silent nodding that has become really common among my soft-hearted agemates in the wake of doozy sermons. And then we spoke energetically about how this had better take root. It felt almost desperate how much we wanted to hold onto the conviction and hold onto the push and the passion to move as God had just asked us to. This can't be just slick wording and boisterous singing.



Ah, Lord.
  Selah





I love God's goodness. Is that a thing?