I'm a child of many colors, a lady of many faults, and a woman of many convictions.
This phrase alone could describe, not only my entire life, but just the last 100 or so hours. It's phenominal how much has taken place in such a short time. I had my first breakdown with Pastor Foley this last Sunday evening.
Through out the entire service I struggled with condemnation. I kept looking down at my service journal (Reagan) fore everytime I'd lift my head and look into Pastors scanning eyes my stomach would churn with mounding conviction. Oh Lord, I thought, what do I do?
Even during the very intense altar call, (upon which I refused to go to the altar), my body felt limp beneath my lifted hands. I sang aloud praying inside mouthing words of worship. Oh Lord, I beg of you...help. And yet I still refused to approach the altar as we began a second round of singing. Fear of a let down much like that mornings altar call, inwhich I practically ran to the platform with conviction and then left with even more condemnation, kept me paralyzed at my seat.
Then through the silence, wringing my hands tightly under my chin, a voice spoke the words of the Lord..."-and I will help you in every situation your in"...at that very moment I knew: it was time to talk to Pastor.
After service I watched as Pastor spoke with various church members and I slowly made my way to the platform waiting for my turn. My palms sweat, my heart raced, my mind seemed blurred.
"Pastor, do you think we could talk?" I finally choked out.
"Yes, ofcourse." he said looking around, "Can it wait it minute though? I have few people I need to talk to".
"Oh yeah, take your time, really, I'm in no rush," and I stepped to the side waiting down the minutes. I tried distracting myself with light conversation slowly stepping into the circle of girls. I followed their words with a smile and even managed to fake a laugh at appropriate times; then he came.
Sitting on stage, starring out my knees, I poured out my soul. It didn't take long for the tears to come flooding out and for my voice to begin cracking between breaths. After I layed out what appeared more like a confession rather that a query, I looked up to see Pastor struggling to suppress a smile.
"Don't feel condemned" he said.
"Just don't?" I asked.
"Just don't. You know what you did, you know it was wrong; you've repented and taken care of it. You won't do it again, so don't worry about it. Just don't." he said, this time sporting a no longer concealed smile.
"Thank you Pastor." I said and walked off the platform with new alleviation. My first target was ofcourse the strategically placed box of tissues, and my second, the bathroom where I splashed cool water on my flushed cheeks. All I could do was sigh with closed eyes as the cold water trickled down to my collarbones...Oh Lord, thank you. Thank you a million times backwards. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Almight God, thank you.
Rather than dealing with my condemnation head on I decided to stash it under my mattress where it built and built, soon becoming the size of a small elephant. There's no shame in talking to my Pastor, even if it was infront of half the congregation miggling between aisles.
There's much more to my eventful weekend, joyful things that I want to tell you about so bad, but my fingers are a tad tired so I will have to save the fun stories for another time.
But for now, too-da-loo.