Surprise Beginnings

If I had to pick one attribute of God that I love most, I would pick his love for surprise. He is lavish in it, especially when I let him. The past eight months have been riddled with surprise, as if every week is my birthday. He pops out with a gift, and—to use my friend’s simile—a chocolate cake, and then he ices the cake, and then he tops it with a candle. Such is my life.

I’m writing from Texas, by the way. Surprise! I was supposed to be here for six days, having hitch-hiked with a friend on his way down to a reunion, to visit another friend and his sister’s family. Three days before I’m scheduled to leave, my friend’s brother calls and asks,

“What are you doing the next two months? Want to stay and nanny the kids?”

Six days turned into a possible sixty. Surprise, indeed.

Though not at all to God, who had been orchestrating all the details into line long before the decision was made. Suddenly I was not working, was freed from church responsibilities, and had the remainder of the summer wide open to his plans.

“Go,” he told me.

There is much about Texan culture that is easy to love—the southern hospitality, the “ya’ll”s and “bless your heart”s, Texas BBQ, even the heat. (Less so the constant perspiring, cockroaches, and generally gargantuan insects.) What has been harder to adjust to is the Texas church culture, which seems to tip a scale from strait-jacket Southern Baptist to spirit-hopping charismatics. I have more experience with the latter, and it has been a struggle to discern who is acting/speaking in truth and who is not. Signs and wonders, healings, prophecy, speaking in tongues—it’s the new normal.

I met a guy the other day who speaks in tongues. He gave me the rundown of his own experience, and what the Bible has to say about it, and I believe he is genuinely walking with God and operating from the Holy Spirit. But he took me slightly off guard when he said,

“We can talk about this all day, or we could pray.”

I realized he meant praying for me to speak in tongues. Two things collided in me: a hope that I would speak the language of the angels, and a fear that I would try and it would not happen. I felt like I was being vacuum-packed. Pressure to give into the spiritual culture, and living proof that God does answer that prayer (my friend sitting next to me comes from a similar background and experience, and God answered his prayer to speak in tongues a few weeks earlier).

Should I do it? Could I do it? Did I need to do it?

“I don’t know,” I said. And that was the truth.

Later, this young man observed that I was looking very contemplative. “What are you thinking?”

I had come to my decision. “I don’t want to do it. I know who God is and I know who I am, and I am learning to walk in the Spirit, but I don’t think I need to speak in tongues to experience intimacy. I asked God if I should, and he says, ‘Not right now.’”

It felt huge, claiming to know God, be intimate with him, and hear from him. But it was the most truthful part of my heart. Later I was told this guy appreciated my response.

 

God came to confirm all my claims in the evening. I went to Young Adults, a sort of church small group. During worship, a new acquaintance came to me with a word from God, which I was all too happy to receive. I will paraphrase what she said and insert what the Spirit said to mine in brackets, because every word was dead-on.

“God wants to tell you that you are full of purity and mercy [your desires are pure and your attitude is merciful to the people here who walk in falseness]. You are willing to go anywhere and do anything in following him, willing to give up your life in service, willing to be taught [you follow me out west and follow me down south and follow me in relationship and follow me in the everyday details of life].

“Though you might not have any schooling, he doesn’t care, because your desire is for him [I don’t care if you don’t know how to speak in tongues or can’t prophesy—you only care about knowing me, and I will reveal myself to you]. You are at peace in your heart, peace about who God is and who he has made you to be, and you are a place of safety for others to come and rest [be assured that you know who I am, rest in the identity I have stamped upon your forehead, and remember that I am sending my children to you because you are a safe place for them to find me].”

I was blown away. I started laughing and crying the minute she spoke. I sat down when she had finished and laughed and cried and thanked God, and he said, “I love you.” I saw me sitting in his lap with his arms around me, the way I might hold the little ones I nanny.

Then Jordan came up to me. I’d never met her before.

“I just had an image of Jesus coming up to you and kneeling before you,” she said. “He gives you a Valentine that says ‘be mine.’ I know it’s not Valentine’s Day, but he wants to romance you in ways you’ve never experienced.”

I grinned. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Jordan prayed, asking that I would hold Jesus’ hand when I walk down the street, and when I sit down, that I would sit in his lap.

I laughed even more. We’d seen the same image.

Surprise!

Oh Jesus, I love you. I was wondering why you wanted me to come to Texas. Now I see a confirmation of all the things I have come into, and a prediction of the future things you hold, which, I imagine, will come in varying degree of surprise.