Tonight I find my heart swelling and the need to write has palpably made itself known, leaving me without excuse. This feeling deep inside my heart communicates something is desperately wrong. Even as I write the word I find a sense of urgency bubble up inside me like and old song long since ignored and forgotten. And though I do not know the words and cannot even hear the dimmest notion of a melody I know that somehow-there is music.
I distinguish so innately there is something more to this Jesus thing my heart seems to leap inside me with exhilaration. But something else tugs in annoyance that I have known my Jesus these long eighteen years and never known all that He is. Or at least all He is going to show me. I know I am young and perhaps should find myself grateful for the gentle way the Father seems to quietly walk me through the pathways of His character, power and majesty. But suddenly I have this perpetuated sense of urgency for more.
It is not that I have not experienced the Holy Spirit. Nor is it a lack of belief in His existence, power, or present work in the world. I fully believe that the Holy Spirit can, does and will act in power in both the rational and tangible world as in the realm of the illogical and invisible.
But for some reason hidden only in the places of omniscience I have not seen and experienced the Holy Spirit the way we encounter Him in the New Testament. I used to ask why. I used to ask how. I used to care.
I long to know the love of the Father and be ruined by the weight of it. I want to see the power of the Holy Spirit heal the sick, open the ears of the spiritually and physically deaf, and change the hardened hearts of those I once fought as enemies. I want to see the name of Jesus tear down walls and move mountains. I want to see the glory of the Lord and find myself unable to ignore His beauty and live in humble response to it. All these things are locked in my mind and hidden somewhere secret where I scarcely am aware of its presence.
I feel as though I am standing at the edge of a mountain watching the powerful thunderheads culminate and whisper to one another their method of destruction. The electricity in the air vibrates in my marrow; raising the tiny hairs on my arms. And all I find myself praying the mist of the rising chaos is the most surprising and terrifying of all.
Come Lord Jesus. I don’t care how. I don’t care where. I don’t care when.
