Part One strongly recommended:
When the worship and special numbers were over, the announcement was made and then the Pastor came on to the stage. He greeted everyone, welcomed whomever was there for the first time and gave a recap of what the Lord had done the previous week. Of course He (GOD) had been good, faithful and true as always. He then looked down at his notes, told us the title of what he had prepared to preach, and almost immediately put the notes away. He then paused for a little bit with his head bent; as if in prayer and then looked up with a ‘frightening steady gaze,’ he then pointed all the way to the back and said “Young lady, can you come up here please?”
Now there was no small stir as every head turned and murmured and fidgeted in the church. I was a mess; sweating profusely as I too looked back like everyone else. The only problem was that I was the back ‘per-say,’ when I looked back I was staring at a stone cold unflinching and daring cement wall. So why was I still looking… at the wall I mean? I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder, as my friend nudged and tried to turn me back to the face the front and likewise the church. Without turning I asked her in an almost inaudible voice (considering the fact that when we are together and chatting, our voices usually cruise and stay on the highest decibel level) ‘was that me?’ And just as softly as she heard the question, she answered in an equally competent whisper: “For the seventh time in your life, it is you; the finger of God is pointing at you.” I strengthened my shoulder, braced myself and whispered the name ‘Jesus’ as I turned away from the wall and faced those beautiful kind faces.
Something happened instantly, I can not really explain it or put it into words. But when I stood up and started to make my way through the row and down the aisle, I knew I was not the same person that walked into that building that morning. The binding and restrictive shackles of the enemy that would seek to disrupt, delay and finally destroy my ability and desire to answer God’s call on my life had been snapped into a thousand pieces. I was free: and like the day that humans under the umbrella of ‘The Miss Universe Pageant System’ taught me how to strut the runway, the Holy Spirit of God showed me how to rise up and take my place in the heavenly realm.
When I got to the front, the church started clapping. I wondered why, was my initial struggle that obvious or were they all on God’s special assignment of compassion. The Pastor then turned to me, handed me the microphone and said something to this effect: “The Lord pointed you out in the congregation; and asked me to call you up here, because you have a song for us.” “I do have a song, I mused to myself; it is called ‘I must be dead’. I was now livid with myself, because either due to fear, or shock, or my plain tangled nerves, every song I knew evaded me. But when I took the microphone from the Pastors hand, that peace I experienced as I walked down the aisle a few minutes earlier, permeated my very being once again. Every one had already left the stage; the musicians (we are talking Capella) and now the Pastor. I walked up to the podium, back straight and confident (I thought I was having an out-of-body experience), as if I had done this my whole life. I opened my mouth physically and asked God to fulfill His promise and His word. “I am the Lord thy God, which brought thee out of the land of Egypt: open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.” Psalm 81:10
As soon as the last word of the last stanza was sung, I transferred the microphone to my other hand so I could wipe the tears falling down my face. As I did this I took a curious peek at the crowd; people were wiping out tears too! It was either I croaked them to boredom or God showed up. I even saw some folks standing up and praising God (a total contrast to what I had experienced a few days earlier in that loft) the sanctuary was definitely charged up and all I wanted to do was run and hide. As if on cue and privy to my plans to flee, the Pastor came up on the stage. I quickly walked up to him to hand over the microphone and prepare for take-off… to my seat i.e. After all I already obeyed and sang the song as was requested. He seemed to be wiping tears from his eyes too; so now I am thinking ‘they are feeling such pity at my loud croaking abilities.’ As I put forward my microphone-holding hand, he took the microphone and began to speak. Praise God! Now was a good time to slip off the stage I thought; until I heard the words that froze my spine. The Lord had asked the Pastor to have me to take over the whole service! Mercy me Lord: how does one go from being ridiculed by their peers, to being a laughing-stock, to handling a morning service at a Baptist Church in the South: with a predominantly (actually 98.5%) different race, on the day of their first visit?
All I could hear in my spirit was: ‘obey the Lord’. This was not really a new revelation. So I figured if the Lord wanted me to say something; then once again he would enable me to do that. I took the microphone one more time from that precious Pastor, walked up to the podium and looked out into that sea of kind and expectant faces and prayed. “Lord please do not disappoint these obedient and compassionate flock of Yours: I am not a preacher, I have no ‘sermon notes’, and I came unprepared. Either way You love them, and I know You will not leave them empty-handed this morning. Meet every need as only You can; and we will be sure to give You all the glory”. God met us that morning; in an unprecedented way the members would later say.
I was hugged at every turn, not one eye was dry as they told of how incredibly God spoke, and encouraged them. I noticed that about fifty-percent (50%) of the congregation were over fifty and very traditional. But they also were teary eyed and shaking their heads. I also had a lot of head shaking to do, this God of mine was such a miracle worker. My friend and her husband were gaping in awe when I finally pressed through the crowd to meet them; the expression on their faces, was as if to say: who exactly did we let into our home? I was not sure I had that answer either, but I was glad they were still my friends. Of all the kind and encouraging words I heard that from the members that day; this was the funniest and most incredible. A beautiful couple, probably in their late sixties-early seventies came up to me, after giving me a heartfelt hug said: “Congratulations on talking way past the time that the Baptists are used to, you took a chunk of their lunch time.” They sweetly ribbed me. When I asked my friend what they meant by that statement, she said at twelve o’ clock sharp, they (the Baptist) get up and start leaving the sanctuary, regardless of the fact that someone may still be speaking. You are expected to be done by twelve because they will not sit and listen to you during their lunch hour. She said not one feet shuffled until I put the microphone down. The time was twenty-one minutes past the hour plus the fellowship time. I kept everyone in church till about way past One o’ clock!!!
The Lord and the Pastor were not yet done; wait till you hear what I was asked to do next… Lasting legacies part three, coming up shortly. Even shorter than you expect or think. I feel the Lord will want to alert His people on what we have to deal with when reaching out to the less fortunate. You will see how ‘one wicked self absorbed woman’ used her authority to thwart the ministry to the down trodden and poor. I bet you did not know this story would end up in your back yard? Stay tuned precious saints and also those that ain’t (yeah, I know they make statements and then check-up to see if I heard). God is mighty and thorough; nothing will escape being dealt with in the Kingdom of the Almighty. Shalom my people.
ofgodthegospelandgrace 