Rain

I will be the first to admit that I really don't like rain. It messes up my hair, my dog doesn't want to go outside and driving becomes a challenge. Rainy days are usually dark, damp (different than wet) and gloomy. Rainy days are best suited to some nice hot coffee, a blankie and a good movie - in my opinion. Sure, there are those infrequent summer rains where the sun is shining during the rain, and then the rainbow comes. But I'm thinking about the fall rain, like the one we just experienced last weekend.

Here on the east coast, we have endured a very long drought. Water basins are receding, grass is turning brown, and the trees aren't quite as vibrant in their fall display as they can be. Then last Thursday it started to rain. We needed the rain so badly. And it rained Friday. All day. All night. This was a long, tempestuous, raging, soaking rain. There were brief moments of showers, but mostly...it rained.

I was in a van with 14 other people, along with 3 other vans and several cars, all heading to a camp in North Carolina for our annual youth fall retreat. So much planning and prayer went into this weekend - why, of all weekends, did it have to rain? Rain meant outside activities might be cancelled, and the students would get cranky, and the clothes and bedding would get wet and muddy. Rain meant the drive would take longer. Rain made for a cloudy, dreary and cold weekend outlook.

We all arrived safely and by 7pm, we were eating dinner. Then we unloaded all the gear - yes, some of it got wet and muddy, but most of it survived the trek to our boxcars where we made our beds and got ready for the evening activity -- a scavenger hunt. In the dark. In the misty rain. But what fun we had...no one thought about how wet it was. Several students just kicked off their shoes, content to be barefoot in the large soccer field hunting tiny red plastic firemen, rubber chickens and the elusive small black checker piece.

Then we headed to the Crossing, our meeting place for the weekend, where we experienced the first worship service of the retreat - our introduction to what God had in store for us that weekend. Hot cider and warm nachos followed and no one thought of the rain. It was simply a beautiful rhythym accompanying the chatter of 70 students and leaders. The gym opened for late night basketball, ping pong and other activities. It was a little bit of a walk - in the mist and light rain. My hair was a mess of curls and frizz, but it didn't matter. The gym was alive with energy, intensity and laughter. The leaders took the students to task on the basketball court, while others just enjoyed hanging out with their friends - content to just be there.

As i went back to my boxcar to settle in around 12:30 am, I thought about the rain and how I usually respond to it, which is to crawl inside and wait for it to subside. That has changed. This rain became a spiritual statement to me from my Creator - He was bringing the rain of his presence to this place - soaking the ground, the trees, and every pine needle and bench we would walk or sit upon. He was pouring out the foundation for our weekend - His Holy Spirit. Suddenly, this rain became alive. It breathed life everywhere.

All through the night, I heard the rain - steady and soaking. The next morning, there was no more rain - instead, there was sunshine. It shone all that day and into the next. It was a glorious day that we welcomed with energy and open hearts. Our students experienced a retreat weekend they will not soon forget. As we closed our Saturday night service, we returned back to God the worship He so deserved, thankful for everything He is. He rained down on us so that we could know Him more and walk closer with Him. I don't think I will look at rain the same again.

Cement Shoes

Most of us are familiar with the old ganster films, where the innocent, or not so innocent, victim ends up in a river with "cement shoes." Well, this past Sunday in church, I experienced my own version of cement shoes...right there in the pew during worship. There wasn't a ganster with a long, but endearing, Italian last name. There weren't any open, vile threats against my life. There weren't any guns, or guys with no neck staring me down. It was just me...and the presence of God.

Cement is an interesting element. You buy it in a bag of dry, powdered material. It only becomes cement when water is added, in the right proportion, and then it sets. Once it is set, it takes a sledge hammer to break it up. It is solid. That's why it is used for things like patios, fence postings, and throwing people into rivers. It's meant to KEEP YOU WHERE YOU ARE.

So there I was in church. I had skimmed the bulletin and worship had begun. Familiar songs had me well on my way to enjoying the congregational interface with our Creator. But then something happened. It got personal. You know, the ALTAR time....dun, dun, dun. We were being led into some songs that were very contemplative and declarative at the same time...dangerous territory when you are just enjoying the predictable moment. Because when you least expect it, the Holy Spirit enters your worship and you are a goner. Of course, this is a good thing...unless you have cement shoes.

Jesus, I love you more than life. I can still hear it. The resounding chorus. Even before the altar call, I knew what was coming. The Holy Spirit is gentle, and when you have heard His voice before, it is not strange. I have been desiring more of God's very Word in my life, yet not allowing the time to foster this relationship. I knew what I wanted - what God was wanting from me, but I was allowing everything else to get in the way. The pastor gently interjected into the worship service to come to the altar if we felt like we needed to take a step, make a declaration, somehow make this a personal dialog between ourselves and the Most High. Yes, I cried...but it was inside. The voice was swallowed in the tears that were streaming down my face. The couple right in front of me, left their row to go down front. One by one, they came to the altar to make a public plea to Jesus. And my feet did not move.

Cement. It's as plain as that. The cement of my fear, my insecurity, my pride, my (feel free to fill in the blank here). I could sway and sing and cry. But I could not move. I opened my eyes and desparately looked around for a sign, a clue, a mere impulse that could move me from my place. But all I could do was close my eyes again and sing...and weep.

God, being the gracious and merciful Creator, met me where I was. His compassion wrapped around me and I knew His presence. But I never recovered from my cement shoes. They were too heavy - the fear of what people would think, was my trip to the altar genuine, what about the sin in my life (because we are all sinners), what about......this is what haunted me throughout the service and on my drive home. Why couldn't I move?

Because I was mindful of my utter need for a Savior at that moment, and at the same time, my complete undeserving soul. The water of conviction had been mixed with all my doubts and fears, creating a concrete that embedded my feet so deeply. But Scripture tells us that God's love for us is deep and wide. He sets our sin as far as the east is from the west. That is as far as far can be. John 10:10 says Satan comes to steal, kill and destroy. But Jesus comes to give life everlasting. I propose to you that the cement is stealing, killing and destroying my life and maybe yours. Once it is set, it is hard, and not easily broken. But God's love and grace, and the work Jesus did on the cross is once and for all time. We have free access to the Throne, but we must believe.

Faith can move mountains. So how hard could it be to move a couple of cement shoes? Nothing is too hard for my God. By faith, certainly I can move a couple of cement shoes. I'm coming down next time. Watch out for the fallout when my shoes break apart.

It is time that the cement shoes we walk in are broken forever.