Wednesday, April 8, 2015

When the Paint Don't Dry

As soon as we made it through those glass doors, everything slowed down. People were moving around the small country church on this second night of revival with outstretched hands in salutation and passing smiles from one to the other. The door had barely shut behind us and I saw a young lady stepping towards the altar. She looked downward and slowly placed both palms down on the smooth piece of wood. The carpet seemed to just reach up and take her by the knees and the small crowd that was there gathered around her as she wept. This day, when the rainbow stretched over our began before the first song, before the first Testimony, before the Pastor even stood.

photo by Drew Hubbard

We quickly settled on a pew and I closed my eyes in prayer. I could feel hurt and heartache for her though I had no idea why. The Lord was letting us know loud and clear that He had reason for us to gather in His House tonight. The songs began and we all found ourselves right back down at the altar with the young lady who still needed her Lord. Two by two the knees bent and tears soaked the carpet below. I prayed silently, "Lord, your children weep. Your children are crying....can you hear the flock crying for our Shepherd?" Immediately, I received Assurance that not only did He hear our cries, He knew one from the other. Hearts were beating tears for just a moment and He wrapped His loving arms around our crowd. I looked around at the mass of people and one by one heads were lifting with that same kind of Assurance.

The visiting preacher stood and he too began real slow. I sat in amazement of our Lord as he took this young man and sent him to that place. I watched a man go outside the glass doors, grab the devil and sin right by the nape of the neck and drag it back in to the front of the church. He stood it up before us and we watched, not knowing what would come next. We each took a look at vile, we listened to the sound of empty, and we sipped from a bitter cup that life has often poured, and it was as plain as I've ever heard, plain enough that even children were hanging on every word. He then talked of the Gift. He spoke of Salvation with ever bit of delicate his voice could offer...and the preacher never had to walk away from the front of the church. When his picture had been painted, it hung there at the face of the church and we watched, expecting it to dry.

When invitation began, the question was asked, who needed to pray? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement and I held my breath. Her strong eight year old hands pushed down on the wheels of her chair as she began to roll her way down to the front. I gasped at the thought and I waited until she reached the altar before my feet moved. The huge crowd surrounded the girl and her family and all I could do was thank Him. I knew He was reaching down and touching her right then. There's things this world can't possibly give that child but at that moment, He promised her everything. I have always said, I go to the church of The Gifted. That church is full of special needs. I can look around and see hearing devices, a wheelchair, children feeling their way around but there's more than that under that steeple. The Lord sees all of our special needs and each one is just as important as the next.

It didn't take long before another child of The King went to that place. That place she's been before, and He restored in her exactly what she longed for. As I sat back on the pew I knew my heart couldn't keep up on its own and I thanked Him again for bringing me here. I looked back up at that beautiful painting He made just for us and the paint was still damp. It had already changed in a matter of minutes and color seemed even brighter than before. I said to myself it just don't get prettier than this...and yet it did.

I saw more movement and this time my head made a blatant turn. His first grade fluorescent green socks carried him up to the altar. His tiny forearm covered his eyes as he lay his head down on that old piece of wood. My hands nor tissue could keep up with the river flowing from my eyes and I thanked Him yet again this night. My body began to laugh out loud as I watched the child pray and HE was doing it again, right in front of our eyes. His parents wailed in thanks and praise as once again, The Lord touched one of their own. This one here, kneeling for his healing, kneeling for his Salvation, rarely passes by me without reaching his arms out for a hug so I consider him one of mine. This child has given to me when I needed, he's a light in my busy school day and here he was, speaking to the same Savior that gave to me. Oh what joy can't even be described when you get to witness such a miracle.

We have one more official night of Revival and I can honestly say the paint isn't dry yet. I look forward to walking in again tonight and sitting among the artist who hold the brushes. He has more life to give our painting and I am Blessed once again as undeserving as I am.