Expect a Miracle

I am a total worship junkie. And given my sorted pre-saved past, it’s quite a progression.  Like, from the time I wake up, ‘til the moment I lay this head ‘o highlights down to sleep, I find a way to play my worship music.

And thanks to the gift of earbuds giving the unfortunate appearance of a wanna-be millennial, my entire work day is amplified by the heavens, with rare interruptions by some over-achieving colleague popping her head in and jolting me out of my worshipful haze….

”Holy, holy, holyyyyy, is the Looooord God Almi’- “JESS!” 

“Oh, sorry- earbuds are on. Yep, I’ll be at the meeting.” Yeesh send an email next time, lady… 

For me worship is so much more than my way of praising God for, well, everything, but it’s total spiritual warfare. It instantly clears my head of irritations, worry, sadness, anxiety, you name it- because it is impossible for these emotions cannot exist in the presence of God. Not to mention a sweet relief from the frenetic, crazed and self-absorbed environment we’ve become so accustomed to.

One of my greatest wishes, aside from a perpetual fountain of youth and dark chocolate flowing through my yard, would be to have a 24 hour house of prayer/worship nearby, like they do in the more evangelical parts of the country where the term ‘born again’ doesn’t secure your place on Homeland Security’s ‘person of interest list.’ I make it to the International House of Prayer in KC when visiting my sister every year and they practically have to drag me out by my boot heels (and it’s also connected to an espresso bar…need a say more) .

But alas, here in central Connecticut I have had to church hop and Google may way to find really amazing worship services, and you kind of have to take what you can get. I’ll go wherever the worship’s good, like a free sample abuser in Sephora. My search happily ended two years ago however, when I discovered a nearby church that hosted a ‘night of miracles,’ once a month, complete with an hour of spirit-led worship followed by a time of healing and prayer. I’ve barely missed a night. They even have Bethel Church-inspired dancers and painters creating art during the service, and excessively dim lighting that properly masks the mascara-laden tears (the good kind) I can never hold in. It’s flipping awesome.

And what amazes me most, aside from the fact the continual failure of my “waterproof” mascara, is how few people even show up to this piece of heaven. It’s usually like me, my niece and 24 other people, which always makes it a little awkward at first, until the Holy Spirit reminds me to get over myself and just be grateful I’m just there to sponge up the music, and not waiting for my spine to heal.

Normally, I shamefully dart out of the church before the healing portion begins, where ministry team members stand up, announcing an emotional or physical ailment God’s told them to pray for, and people raise their hand for prayer. In the short time I’ve been going I’ve seen tumors gone, lifelong chronic pain instantly ended, and spiritual bondage broken. It’s amazing to witness but I always had three boys waiting for movie night to start at home, and was only in it for my worship fix.

But this past Friday I was totally in. I was actually expecting a miracle. I had just gone through one of the roughest relational experiences of my life, and I was determined to stay, and wait for prophetic word to be spoken….”I sense someone needs to break a soul tie….” And then I would humble myself and get healed so I could return to my happy joyful, now single self.

I sat. And sat. And I waited. And waited. When I tell you that just about every ailment and emotional need was announced, it is only with the slightest exaggeration. Joint stiffness. Stomach issues. Elbow pain, bad knees, skin rashes, it was alike a mid-17th century Jonathan Edwards healing revival. Familial relationships restored, faith increases, and I think a Jewish person came to Christ. I think they might have covered every ache the human soul can encounter. Sans post-breakup emotional healing.

I thought maybe, for a moment my time had arrived, when a woman began saying a few random words in search of someone to heal:

“This week, when asking God whom to pray for, I heard a name Susan….even if your name isn’t Susan, you could maybe even just on Susan court.”  

I actually scoured my mind for any potential Susan connection that could get me to alter for some darn emotional healing. But nothing.

I finally left, humbly accepting my fate, still feeling genuinely grateful for the awesome worship time and peace I always for that straight hour. And that’s when I realized it.

My miracle had already happened. My miracle was that I was able to be there, standing and praising the Lord, experiencing peace and joy despite the waves of deep sadness and loss that only he could remedy.

Because I remember what it was like before knowing Him, going through a storm, and there was just dark, lonely hopelessness. The comfort and love of God in my time of despair was and will always be miracle enough. If we let him, like really come to him with our pain, regret and fear instead of running to the million other vices and sources of escape that’ve become commonplace to even Christians, he will be our comfort in our greatest time of need. The only thing that heals is Him. With, or without, an Aunt Susan.

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