My Mountain

The past few months have been hard. As noted in previous blogs, I've been under a lot of pressure to provide for a lot of people, the least of which is myself. I haven't been to church in months except for one service and that wasn't even my own church. Until today.
Last night in the early evening I felt relieved to be going back. From out of nowhere, which I have found is the way it always happens, I was struck with grief over my dad. If you don't let it go it builds up and finds you when you least expect it. Even the physical part came back. I slept until noon yesterday then took a nap from two to four. I was NOT that tired. At ten o'clock, don't ask why, I was cutting up a watermelon and a cantaloupe. I had my computer open, talking to Jada on facebook, iTunes cranked up with Kate Voegle, and enjoying myself despite my lack of hefty fruit cutting ability. I went from carefree to sad and completely missed the transition. As strange as it may sound it is refreshing to know exactly where your depression comes from. Crying for no reason is much more upsetting than crying over your late father. I should know, I've done both. The point of the story is I started to doubt my desire to go to church or even my ability to deal with going by myself. It's a harder thing to be there without my mom there. Although I love my church family and I know they love me, they can't take a parent's place and thankfully they haven't tried to. I went to bed last night, still crying and overwhelmed, having decided I wasn't going. I didn't get settled down and go to sleep until after two. But God had a plan for me today. I woke up at 9:30. It just so happens that I can get ready in 45 minutes and church starts at 10:30. I knew the instant I looked at the clock that God was speaking to me and He wanted me to go to church. He was ready to move in my life, but I had to show my willingness to follow him and take the steps. I arrived at church and slipped in as inconspicuously as possible just as Pastor Danny (also known as P. Danny haha) was opening in prayer. Mrs. Betty was already praising God several rows ahead of me.
*Mrs. Betty was the coordinator of Missionettes from the time I started when I was three to the time I earned my gold medal when I was eighteen. She worked a lot with my dad at church since they ministered to the same age range only different genders. They spent a lot of time praying for more workers. Neither ministry seems to ever have enough. Mrs. Betty is one of those people that has watched me grow up. One of those that tells me over and over how beautiful I am and how she sees God in my life. Both of which I usually have a hard time accepting. I don't feel like I do a very good job of glorifying God most of the time. She watched me and Jada sing together when we were little. She knows my passion for music and my love for children. And she knows a lot of my hopes and fears.*
As I said, Mrs. Betty was already there when I slipped in. Jada wasn't there yet so I stood there by myself and centered on God. It has been so long since I was in God's presence like that. I had nothing else to do except thank Jesus for my life and ask for His strength. After worship we got the direction to greet those around us. This is my least favorite part of Church. I feel like I'm flogged by people who are increasingly friendly. Basically, its my last remaining social phobia. Anyway, I was drying my eyes. I had sat down to pray and Jada prayed with me, which made me cry even more (in a good way). Mrs. Betty was there when I looked up. She said, "God told me to come back here and tell you that He is going to move that mountain. You're going to find more pleasure than you can imagine". I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. This is beyond hearing the pastor say something and it speaking to you along with twenty other people. My Savior chose a single person to bring me a personal message. I could feel God's arms around me telling me "it's going to be okay. I'm still taking care of you."
Mrs. Betty who is also on the prayer team prayed with me during the altar call. Once again, I felt safe and happy. It's not that I thought God had forgotten me or that He couldn't handle this. I've never doubted that He is in control. What I have wondered is where He is in my personal needs. I love the poem "Footprints". That is exactly what God is doing in my life. I'm looking down and I only see one set of footprints in the sand. Until this morning, I thought they were mine and I was left to wander aimlessly through the desert. In reality, I am on Jesus' shoulders. We are walking along the beach. To Him this is just a wrinkle, an error on the page that can be erased. God still walks on water. God still moves mountains. God is still in control. He still carries us. He still speaks to us. He loves us. He loves me. He carries me.