She comes a-knocking

There's a church that might be interested in me.

For the first time in almost a year, I think I might be interested back. I'm not entirely sure. I'm still processing a lot of emotional baggage from my previous 5 years in ministry...but when the Bish called and said, "Can I tell them about you?" my first response was not, "Oh, please don't. Really. Don't." but rather a slight thrill in my belly and I asked to hear more about the congregation.

It could be a long shot. There will be a lot of people talking with this congregation. I mention this more to mark progress for me--I've been carrying so much anger and pain around with me in connection to the church. It's still there, but it's been tempered a bit. Honed. Perhaps, now, I'd be able to use the anger to address things, rather than just lashing out. Turn it into a force of good, rather than a force of evil.

We were at a church convention, and my beloved professor was there. J is an amazing man. Grace just oozes out of him--he can't help it. I hadn't seen him in a couple of years, and he was greeting people and shook my hand rather absently, listening to someone else talking and then he looked at my face. And with a fantastic, Norwegian roar he scooped me into his arms and kissed my cheek and told me he loved me. Beamed at me. Told me he wanted nothing more than to be in a room with M and I so that the three of us could talk like we used to. And his actions reminded me of my favorite passage of scripture, from the book of Isaiah, "Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you." It's God speaking to the Israelites. But last Monday? It was God speaking to me.

Back in February, I wrote about God being wildcrazy in love with us, and coming after us. Well. That day in a crowded church hallway: He got me. Again. Or still, probably is more like it. And as I sat up in the balcony and listened to J address the crowded sanctuary, I wept as he spoke passionately about the love God has for his people. Even me. And all the little chips and cracks and dings and "owies" that I've been living with for so long were washed clean. Not away. They're still there. But they don't hurt as much. I've been crying a lot--good tears, the kind of tears that just fall and fall and fall so gently and soak your face. Like a good spring rain--those are the tears I've been crying. Each tear a prayer, each prayer giving breath to a hope that hasn't been alive much lately.