Co-Pilot

10162016 CoPilot 

I’m in a class to grow.  Yesterday, I spent 13 hours in the classroom, door shut, learning, listening, being led by two great instructors and one amazing Holy Spirit.  At the end of the day, I drove home and visited with my sister and her boyfriend, who were so gracious to host me for the weekend.  She asked me about my day, and I told her how I spent the majority of it examining the depravity that is my true nature.  Yes, that is what I told my sister I learned at School for Lay Ministry.  It’s not what course was offered, it’s just what the Holy Spirit happened to be teaching in AmySara 101 that day. 

I entered the room and sat down as the instructors welcomed us and outlined what we would be covering in the course.  They led us in a devotion and offered us a moment of silence to center.  I used that moment to pray, and asked God to transform me.  I opened my hands and my heart and I prepared myself to receive all the good that God had to unload on me for the weekend.  Next to me sat the same woman from last night’s orientation.  She was quiet and calm, her countenance was graceful and kind.  We gave each other a cordial glance and smile of encouragement, as we began our task of learning how we can better serve our congregations, our community, and especially, our God.  

As the people around me began to speak, I felt an internal sense of unrest, and then, almost without warning, a grumbling.  I was impatient and rude – not outwardly, but inside my thoughts.  I looked down and recognized this feeling.  It was not going to be a good day for me.  I tried self-talk, “listen to their heart”. “What a beautiful thing this person is doing for God in the lives of others”.  No amount of reasoning could shut the evil attitude down.  I began to jot down the feelings I was having and confessed them in front of God.  After all, through the pre-assignment, I learned about the importance of the Examen of Conscience.  This was it.  I knew it.  Although I did not want to do it, God was calling me to look directly at my self and the veil was lifted.  I have been running and doing and thinking and listening and caring and loving and mothering and wife-ing and ministering (and all the other stuff that I do) for way too long.  God had not only ordained this meeting, but purposely built into it the opportunity for me to sit and be still.  For two full days.  

While everyone else was listening to the instructors teach about what it means to be a leader in the church, how God has called us all here and hours of other pertinent information;  I learned how truly selfish and human I am, and it was disappointing because I’m not as well developed in the Holy Spirit as I had imagined.  I stayed there, typing all that I received by the Spirit and all that the instructors taught.  Alternately, I flipped from the daily register of examen to the class notes.   I sat silently, listening to the people around me speak of all the good they are doing, the ways God is using them; and I wondered, is this what is left?  Is this the end of the journey for me?  Did God bring me here, not to learn how to better serve my church, community and the sheep in the fold, but to show me how completely incapable I am, how my humanity is more than I think it is, and how, without His help, leading and guidance, I will never do anything worthwhile?  Quite possibly, and quite lovingly, yes. 

I sit through the day’s learning.  Occasionally, I want to speak, but for “some reason”, my opportunities are missed.  After about six hours, I realize that I am not meant to speak today.  No, today, I will listen.  To God, to the instructors, to my classmates, to the Spirit.  Today, I will experience what it is to truly listen to the voice inside of me and to others.  Hearts breaking for other people, just like mine does.  Hearts questioning what their purpose is, just like mine does.  Minds, seeking wisdom, just like mine is.  I will not be able to speak today, and with resignation, I learn to appreciate this fact.  By dinner, I am peaceful about what I’m learning about myself and what I’m learning about God. 

While He is teaching me, I do not feel condemned.  I do not feel as though I am abandoned.  I just feel like I’ve been shown a big picture of myself, held up to a window where the light can hit it just right.  I see how truly finite my power is, and not just the power to think and feel and do.  The power even to control who I am.  Matthew 26:41 comes to mind.  “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”  Yes.  My flesh is so very weak.  And yet, I’ve apparently always been this way.  It didn’t just start in this class.  My sense of who I am is more clear and the ugliness of it is disgusting.  I don’t say that in a self-deprecating way.  I say it in honesty.   Looking at God, then looking at myself – I see how very far I have to go to imitate Christ and truly be a godly woman.  I’ve always led from my heart.  Oftentimes, I act based on a nudge or leading, and it looks unconventional, it happens unexpectedly, and it’s often strange.  It is unbelievable and I don’t often see what’s happening, however, I do notice that God is the one where it all comes from.  It is not a matter of me or my energy but comes from God and His power to do anything He wills.  However great my desire to submit to Him is, so also is my desire to be in love with myself, and that’s what I’m looking at here.  The reality that I want human things and that’s not what God wants for me.  It’s not taking up my cross.  I’m staring face to face at my own way, my own power, my own… not THY own… ugh. 

I take a shower and go to bed, praying that God will forgive me for being so human. 

Sunday morning, I left my sister’s house ahead of the 30-minute drive and did not suspect the challenge that the weather would present.  In town, the roads were fine, but as soon as I turned onto the highway, I felt extremely uneasy.  It would have been nice for Beef to have been able to drive me this morning.  He’s always been a great driver.  Been doing it ten years longer than me, as he always says.    

The fog was thick, like syrup as it pours over pancakes in the morning.  It was misty and wet and hung over my vehicle like a cloud.  I could see no more than a car length in front of me.  I felt fearful, because I am unfamiliar with the territory – I’d never been to this town before this weekend, and all of my travels had been in the dark till now.  So I didn’t know what landmarks to look for, which way the road would bend, how fast I could travel at a safe speed.   

Three months after I had become a licensed driver, I took my boyfriend to school.  It was an act of defiance, my parents had forbidden me to have passengers, but that day, I’d decided that I would not follow their rule.  We were going around the “s” curves and after successfully navigating the first curve, I headed into the second.  Someone recently told me that when our adrenaline is pumping, time stands still, and we do not hear sounds.  That is exactly what happened in my car that day.  We started to spin, tires slipping on oil that had risen to the surface of a fresh wet blacktop road.  The car went round and round, falling off the course, through the air, down, down into a ditch.  At the descent, a warning arrow sign was broken off, and flew through the backseat window; the car coming to rest after colliding with a culvert.  With that loud boom, I could hear again – first the windshield wipers, then the radio.  I remember looking around and seeing another student, who must’ve seen the crash stop in the middle of the highway.  She backed up and came to see if assistance was needed.  Then I looked over at my boyfriend.  He wasn’t moving.  He wasn’t talking.  He was just slumped beside me, looking bewildered.  I panicked.  I remember thinking he might be dead.  I asked him to speak.  He said his back hurt.   

Not long after, the ambulance came and took him to the hospital while I talked to the police.  I will never forget how awful I felt, for my boyfriend, my parents, and myself.   

Every time I go around curves in a car – every time – I feel that same sickening feeling.  On this day, I feel paranoid almost, at the thought of those curves.  There are two sets on this route, and one of them is over a creek, with a bridge in the middle.  I try to push the thought away as I tap my brakes.  There is no sound in my vehicle, just the windshield wipers clicking back and forth at slow intervals.  I’m straining above the steering wheel to sense the road.   

“This is what it is, isn’t it, Lord?”  I ask in my mind.   

“Yes”, I sense His comforting answer, pregnant with openness.  

I tense up, trying harder to see more clearly.  I know, I know deep in my soul what this is.  It is the physical lesson from the Spirit’s leading yesterday.  It is the visual of the transformation.  I don’t like it, but I know that there is no way out of it.  I asked for it.  I submitted myself, my desires, my own will to His, and I prayed for transformation.  It’s coming, and transformation is beautiful, if not painful.  There are no cars in front of me, none that I can see.  My line of sight is now no more than four feet in front of my hood.  Beside me, thick fog.  The car is safe, yet isolating.  I know that I am safe, but I also know that I don’t know what else is lurking beyond the fog.  I don’t know if I will see the curve in time.  Are the drivers coming head-on at me paying attention?  Am I going to slow?  What if a car comes up from behind and hits me?  I am full of questions, but the one staying thought is, “This is what it is.”   

I am functioning in my own realm.  I’ve been operating on my own power, doing things my way in my time at my will for my desires.  Yes, I’ve been following nudges, but I’ve remained in my comfort zone.  Yes, I’ve done good things, but many people who are not Christians do good things all the time.  What makes me different?  How will people know I’m following Jesus if I don’t show them?  In my own power, my sight is limited.  With my own eyes, I can only see 4 feet in front of me.  Dear Jesus, I’m sorry I’m trying to do this on my own.  I’m sorry I’ve been hiding out in the back of the crowd or the front of the church or on the sidelines, telling you what I do and do not want to do.  I’m sorry I’m selfish and I want people to do things my way.  I’m so sorry I didn’t consider you and I don’t come to you more often.  I’m sorry.  Please, please forgive me.   

I’m going around a curve when the bridge comes.  The road appears straight, I don’t feel the slight angle of the curve as I do when I can see it with clear vision.  I’m driving slower now, because I can feel the bump as I cross the bridge.  A car comes from the opposite direction.  I don’t know where I am, and I can’t stop – I’ll probably cause an accident.  More cars come, three at a time, all going the opposite direction.  They’re going where I just came from.  I want to turn around and follow that car, it probably knows where it’s going… and yet, I hear the Scripture, “Enter through the narrow gate.  For wide is the gate and broad is the path that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.  But small is the gate and narrow the way that leads to life, and only a few find it.”  (Matthew 7:13 & 14). Am I on the narrow path or am I on the wide path?  Hmmm… seems to me that I’m the only one going this way.  Everyone else is going the opposite way.  I’m going to school to learn more about how to be a better servant.  Perhaps I’m okay.  “God, please tell me I’m okay.”  I think. 

I sense that God is with me.  I feel peaceful.  I know that all of that – what it was – a perfect invitation for honest confession with the God who already knew it all.  A loving Father, calling His daughter over, asking her to tell Him the problem and seeking His counsel.  Within minutes, I feel warmth and the fog starts to melt away.  I can see the sun now, burning behind me as I cross the last bridge before coming into town.  As much as the sun brings with it the physical ability to see, the Son brought me the spiritual ability to see.  I make the final turn into town with 15 minutes to spare.  I feel so peaceful, so relieved.  A weight I hadn’t recognized has been lifted, and my spirit is calm.  I know that God is done working with me on my impatience for this weekend.  I feel loved and cared for, protected and comforted.   

This is what it is.  A very close glimpse at my relationship with God.  Intimate details are being described to you solely for the purpose of allowing you to see that God does talk to us.  He does come near us.  He is with us at all times.  We need not fear His discipline.  He loves us too much to leave us where we are.  He wants to draw us closer.  I share this with you so that you might know that God wants a relationship with you.  He wants it so much that He sent His son who was perfect, to take on a human form – imperfect as we are – so that we might know that He knows, understands and feels what we do.  Jesus died a very long and torturous death in the human body so that we might be ransomed from death.  Jesus overcame death and rose to heaven, and now sits at the right hand of God, interceding for us, right now, even right now.  I share this very personal story with you so that you might know how imperfect I am.  So that you might see that if you do believe I love and if you feel loved in my presence, it is truly not of me.  Honestly, it is an overflowing that comes from Christ himself.  Poured out for you. 

This entire weekend was lovingly orchestrated by a God who loves me so much.  Even when I’m selfish and impatient.  He loves me enough to pull me aside from the wide path and back onto the path He had planned all along.  Like a choreographer planning a dance, God planned this entire weekend, well before I ever suspected I needed anything.   

I asked my cousin about choreography.  How does she plan an entire dance for several girls?  What’s the first step?  “Lock yourself away in a room…”. Those were literally the very first words she used to answer me.  What’s the first thing that happened this weekend?  We registered and then, we locked ourselves away in a room for 13 hours.  God is GOOD. 

Luke 17:1-10 was the final devotion for us this weekend:  

1 Jesus said to his disciples: “Things that cause people to stumble are bound to come, but woe to anyone through whom they come. 2 It would be better for them to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck than to cause one of these little ones to stumble. 3 So watch yourselves.  “If your brother or sister[a] sins against you, rebuke them; and if they repent, forgive them. 4 Even if they sin against you seven times in a day and seven times come back to you saying ‘I repent,’ you must forgive them.”  5 The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!”  6 He replied, “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it will obey you.  7 “Suppose one of you has a servant plowing or looking after the sheep. Will he say to the servant when he comes in from the field, ‘Come along now and sit down to eat’? 8 Won’t he rather say, ‘Prepare my supper, get yourself ready and wait on me while I eat and drink; after that, you may eat and drink’? 9 Will he thank the servant because he did what he was told to do? 10 So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.’” 

Yes, Lord, I am an unworthy servant who has simply done my duty. Let all that I do now reflect this wonderful time I have spent with you.