ekklesia

I didn't go to church yesterday morning because Vergil wasn't feeling well and I wasn't sure I was up to going by myself yet. I did, however, go to Ekklesia, an alt-worship service held once a month at my church. I've never been before, but man, was it just want I needed. Talk about a spiritual bath...that was definitely it.

Anyway, I did some train-of-thought writing while I was there and figured, what the heck, I'll share it here. I don't know to what end it will serve, but I don't really care so much. Enjoy it for what it's worth.

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Everything feels different, strange. My ears don't hear like they usually do. My eyes can't see the way they're supposed to. I feel like the matter of me is expanding and spreading and becoming part of the air - part of the building itself. I wanna push at the walls, see if they stretch and expand. I feel like they could be made of rubber, elastic - flexing and changing with every note, every prayer.

I wanna speak but I've not been given the words. You have to go! Do what's on your heart. You stand there, like me, up to your ankles in the water. Afraid to dive in. Afraid to let go. Let's go. Let's go. Let's swim.

Wide awake - everything strung tighter than a guitar string. Waiting...for what? Move, God, move! I'm running and running, trying to keep up. I'm tired. Go on without me. But don't leave me behind! Come back and tell me what you've seen.

Lord, come. Fill this place. Pour out your Spirit like water. Light the fire. But don't break me. Don't bruise me. Don't snuff me out.

I can't speak. I don't know where I am. I'm here but not here. Elsewhere. Huge warrior angels are keeping everything out. This is holy ground.

I can't feel a thing. Nothing. No chills. No comfort. No grief. Daddy, am I fine? Am I okay? The tears still come, one at a time, but nothing more.

I wasn't in the line of fire. I was safe at the command post - directing, consulting, safe from direct fire. Yet here I am, in the infirmary nonetheless. I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't expecting a direct hit like this. How long will I be here? Will I still be of use? Don't discharge me. I want to still hear you. I want to be your voice. I want to bring comfort and direction. I still have friends on the front lines - I can't leave them!

Don's angel is huge. Dark skin, bulging muscles, battle-scarred but undaunted, silvery wings spread wide, sword at the ready, eyes turned to heaven, deep voice echoing Don's praises back to God.

Now I feel it. The power and weight of your presence. It lays thick and heavy on me. Come, Lord Jesus, come.