During our time in Albania, my team was partnered with a church. One morning, my team sat down with one of the pastors, Scott, who is also a missionary from the States. He wanted to take the time to get to know us and share what the Lord has taught him about doing foreign missions. After we had chatted for a while, he looked at me and asked, “Are you the one who prayed on Sunday?”
His question caught me off guard. We met every Sunday morning with the church staff to pray over the services and the day, so yeah, I had probably prayed. He saw my confusion and began to clarify.
There are three pastors at the church. They each play different roles, but all take turns preaching on Sundays. On that morning, I noticed that Scott was especially dressed up. One of the other pastors made it a point to call him “Pastor Scott” several times throughout the meeting. I put two and two together and assumed that Scott was sharing the message that morning. When I prayed that morning, I prayed over Scott specifically; that the Lord would be with him and give him the words to share with the congregation. After we closed, Scott told me that he wasn’t the one preaching. We all had a good laugh and I honestly didn’t think about it again. Jesus knows what I was trying to pray for. Its okay if I got the name mixed up. Jesus knows.
Fast forward. That’s the prayer Scott was referring to. I owned up to it. “Yes, that was me. I prayed for the wrong person to preach.”
Why are we talking about this?
Scott looked at me and said, “You’re extremely observant. You watch people. You notice things. I want to encourage you in that. Keep watching people because the Lord is going to use the things you see to speak to people. He’s going to give you insight to speak truth.”
Holy moly.
I wanted to melt into a puddle.
The gift of truth speaking has been spoken over me and called out multiple times. Through this whole refining process, I thought I had lost it. I thought that it was gone and not a part of me anymore. Most of the time, I couldn’t articulate my thoughts into words and I certainly didn’t have the boldness to speak like that.
Scott didn’t know me well. He didn’t know that was something that had been spoken over me numerous times. He didn’t know that was something I was struggling with.
But Jesus did. Jesus sees me. He knows me.
That morning, Jesus used Scott to remind me that “me” was still there.
Another friend told me that there are things woven into the very fabric of who I am that don’t disappear. They don’t disappear, but they do look different from season to season. Sometimes they are more prominent than others. She was right.
As I’m learning to walk and be me and use my gifts again, I hope it doesn’t look the same. I hope it looks more like using them for the building up of the body, not for building myself up. I hope it glorifies Christ, rather than making me look good.
That morning, I was reminded that Jesus speaks through others to remind me of Him. When I’m willing and listening, He’s going to tell me who I am. I’m not staying in this season of unformed, stripped nakedness forever. In His time, He’s clothing, reshaping, and rebuilding me.
