I heard her in person the other day.
She joked that her audience was usually all wearing capri pants, and yeah, being a guy probably limits my appreciation of her. It did take a minute to get over that feminine, (to me) over-emotional way of praying and asking God to bless our time. But soon I was caught up in Jacob wrestling with God and my own reaction to her urging us to not ever let go of wrestling with God in intimacy.
The words came out like they had butterfly and eagle wings, fluttering and soaring, and none seemed to fall to the floor. It felt like each person was given something personal. I know I was -- my relationship with Jesus is the most important thing in the world...
You can get the stage, the gig, the platform and draw a crowd and make a knock-em-out impression. You can do that with skill and effort, on your own. And then you can give Jesus credit, even though you did it, and it sounds good, and some people won't know the difference.
But this kind of thing, where the speaker becomes invisible, and you're listening to her but you feel like it's only you and Jesus -- that comes at a greater price than skill and effort and perseverence. There's some kind of soup of brokenness, humility, hopelessness, rejection, suffering and death that cooks for God-knows-how-long into this nourishing bowl of exaltation, healing, acceptance, and new life.
Nourishing for others. Very expensive for you.
And while it's cooking, you ask, how long? And the only answer you get is, until I say it's done.
There aren't many price-payers in the world. There's way more benefit-getters -- I'm one -- and the contrast when you're in the same room with the other one can be convicting and inspiring at the same time.
I wrote her husband a note, but didn't give it to him -- "I don't know what cost you've had to pay to be able to do this, but it's worth it." I think I wrote it for myself, as maybe some kind of soup-starter of my own.
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