(All Around the World We're Singing) Rain Down.

In the fall of 2008, rain began to follow me. It started when I attended a youth rally and fell in love with the song "Rain Down." And suddenly, everywhere I went, rain was showing up: in songs, in Bible verses, in the sky. So much so that it caused me to wonder. Okay, God. What's up? He answered me in His usual manner: in the place I least expected.

I worked part-time as a housekeeper my freshman year of college, and I was in the middle of cleaning bathrooms when God said: I want you to pray for the rain. 

He wasn't talking about a physical rain, but a spiritual one--the renewing rain of the Holy Spirit. The rain of His love and power and Presence. He was talking about revival.

In case I didn't get the message, He gave me confirmation one evening at a church service in Atlanta. The only thing I remember about that night were the words of a man who prayed, saying that we need to do whatever God has called us to do, "even if God has just called you to pray for the rain." Those words, exactly. Pray for the rain. And I said, Okay, God. I understand. I'll pray for the rain. 

Have you ever made a promise that you didn't keep? I have. Time, and time again.

Fast-forward to summertime, 2009. I started listening to podcast sermons from Bethel Church in Atlanta. And suddenly, the speaker was talking about how God had been imprinting something on his heart over and over--and that something was rain. He said that God wanted to bring a spiritual rain to His people.

In other words: Everything that was coming out of that man's mouth was exactly what God had impressed on my own heart months before.

The speaker also told a story in that sermon about going to a Jesus Culture conference in Texas during a drought. As they were driving under sunny, clear skies, a raindrop hit the windshield. He knew it was prophetic, and told the man next to him that there would be a literal downpour before the weekend was over. And sure enough, the last day of the conference, there was a downpour.

I went to a Jesus Culture conference myself that summer, in Atlanta. As we were driving there, under sunny, clear skies, my friend said he saw a raindrop hit his windshield. I didn't say anything, but the tempo of my heartbeat suddenly increased. Because I knew: Something was coming.

During one of the times of worship at Jesus Culture, someone came on stage and said we needed to pray--for our cities, the nation, the world--for revival. So I got down on my knees and began to pray. The words just kept coming, louder and louder, until I was yelling my prayer out to God. I had never prayed like that before. The Holy Spirit had taken complete control, and given me a glimpse of the heart of God, of his longing to rain down life and love on a blind and broken people. As I poured out my words and my heart in prayer, God whispered to me, This is how I want you to pray for rain.

The last night of the conference, we stepped outside. Right into a downpour.

A month later, relating the experience in my journal, I wrote: I knew my calling, and I knew my prayers would never be the same.

Have you ever made a second promise, after you failed to keep the first one, and you swore with your whole being that you would keep it this time...only you didn't? I have. Time, and time again.

Three years passed. My prayers grew more sporadic, more unfocused. A half-hearted, semi-remembered offering. Any hint of revival in my college, in my church, in me--flickered and died.

But thankfully, my God is even more stubborn than I am. And He's in the habit of bringing the dead back to life. Though I may have forgotten His promises, though I may have given up, He hadn't. These past few months, He's been pestering me about prayer. Not the Oh-hey-God-as-I-lie-on-my-bed-at-night-and-then-fall-asleep-in-the-middle-of-our-"conversation" prayers, but the get-on-my-knees-on-the-floor-and-call-down-heaven prayers, the prayers of expectation and power and boldness that can only be accomplished through the Holy Spirit.

Have you ever been afraid to make a third promise, certain you'll fail again, and the rooster will crow, leaving you to weep in the dark alone because you've denied your Jesus again? I have.

But I'm making that promise anyway.

The rain is coming. And I commit before you now, brothers and sisters, by the grace and power of the Holy Spirit in me, to keep praying until it does. Like Elijah's servant, I will scan the horizon, searching for a sign. Though day after day, the sky may seem empty, still I will pray. Until a cloud appears, even if it's only the smallest of clouds, the size of a hand. I won't stop praying.

Sons and daughters of the King, these prayers are for us. The Holy Spirit has saturated us with His love and power, that we in turn can pour it on those around us. Dear children: We are the rainclouds.

I beg you, mighty warriors. When the Spirit calls: Answer.

Ninja in the Night.

On January 10, 2010, I drove with a friend to Brunswick, Georgia, and went to a church called Bethel. After the service, I came to the front, and several people gathered around to prophesy over me. These are the words that one of them spoke:

"One of the things that came to me was boldness is gonna come into the relationship you have with God...it's gonna be something that's very safe and that you can approach boldly. There won't be a timidness, it's not gonna be like, 'Hey, God, I'm here if You wanna talk to me,' it's like 'HEY GOD, I'M HERE, COME DOWN!', so that's gonna be an accelerated thing in your life, and be bold, and feel safe because He is a good God...So come boldly; don't be timid.

"Also...one other thing with being bold and trying new things...is fear of failure and  fear of rejection. It's like...those things are bondages that hold us back, that keep us from moving forward. And when you realize that not trying or not doing is already guaranteeing failure, that the only possible way to succeed is risk, and to go for it and to step out regardless of whatever--because it's just like a test in school, and...you really fretted about it, for that amount of time, but then, a week later, a year later, is it something you remember, is it something that's constantly in your mind, that...you know what I'm saying? Those things go away. But the successes, where you really do well, where you really shined--those things stay with you. So just keep that in mind." 

Boldness. That was the word the Spirit spoke over me. Because only a God as crazy as ours would take a girl who was voted the shyest in her senior class and proclaim that she would be bold. And only a God as powerful as ours could bring it to pass.

Enter the present day: January 2013. Three years later--the blink of God's eye. I am telling my mom (who knows nothing of the prophecy from Bethel) that I don't understand why God is bringing certain opportunities into my life, and I don't know what He wants me to do about them. And she says simply, "Ask Him. Be bold. You're supposed to be bold, remember?"

Lightening bolt, through the heart. Because even though she had no idea what her words were referring to, I was brought immediately back to that time, and that place, and that promise: boldness.

So I shouldn't have been surprised when, a week later, I randomly received this text from a friend (who doesn't know about the prophecy, or about what my mom said to me last week): You are a quiet ninja in the night. Fear not. Be bold. Be brave. Take no prisoners.

(Don't worry. She's talking spiritual warfare--at least, I think she is.;)

I know these things aren't accidents. God is bringing about the fulfillment of a promise in my life, and it's time for me to claim it. Because while I do not know exactly what lies before me in the days ahead, I suspect it will take every ounce of boldness that the Spirit has to help me gain the victory.

Oh, by the way. Update time (one hour later). Before I wrote this blog, another friend of mine had tagged me in a video she posted on Facebook. After finishing my blog post, I watched it. At 2 minutes 31 seconds, my brain exploded. Listen, and you'll understand why.

A Fire Shut Up in My Bones.

I have been avoiding this. Because I remember my own skepticism--the way my heart shied away, the way I wrestled with God until dawn--the way I'm still wrestling.

But I also know how my faith was stunted for eighteen years, because that was how long it took me to run into someone who truly believed that the Holy Spirit of the Bible is the Holy Spirit of today, and that our God is still a God of the logic-defying, science-altering, turn-the-world-upside-down impossible.

And when I finally met that person, I thought she was completely nuts.

At first. Until I lowered my defenses and started seeking God--letting Him shatter the walls of the box of my own understanding that I had spent my entire life caging Him in, my list of doctrines that defined the ways He did and did not work--and I had called those regulations Biblical, and I had called them discerning, and I had defended them with my being's every fiber.

Then God showed up and ruined everything. And all the things I thought I knew were brought into question, and I have never been more terrified. He messed me up, and I have never since recovered. But I am learning to believe, and begging that He help me overcome my unbelief.

And what do I believe?

(His word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.)

I believe the sons and daughters of God will prophesy. I believe the Holy Spirit will tell them secrets, about the future, about the lives of others, and the children of God will speak those truths over their brothers and sisters, and when their brothers and sisters hear those words, their hearts will spill over with hope.

I believe the sons and daughters of God will have visions. Clear-as-day pictures, entering their minds without warning, visions revealing spiritual mysteries.

I believe the sons and daughters of God will dream dreams. I believe God will speak to their dreams in stories and symbols, and if they will seek out its meaning, the Spirit will be their interpreter.

I believe God will show wonders in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, gold dust and angel feathers raining down just to remind His people that He is near. I believe God's children will lay their hands on the sick, and the sick will be made well. And on the dead, and they will be raised to life. God's children will speak in languages of earth and heaven that they do not know. God's children will cast out demons.

I believe the power of the Holy Spirit has not changed or diminished since the day of Pentecost; only, the faith of God's people has.

(I believe, only help my unbelief.) 

I hope this does not offend you. If the first feeling that erupts at these words is doubt, or fear, or anger, or repulsion, I understand--because those feelings were my own. There were so many things that I had been told God "doesn't really do anymore." So many passages from the Bible watered down and rationalized away. Because it was so much easier to rationalize than to believe.

But when God shows up, it's remarkable how quickly you stop rationalizing.

So I will not apologize for what I believe. My beliefs are founded on Scripture, and were proved and continue to be proven to me by the power of the Holy Spirit that drenched my life like a flood. I will not claim that every belief I hold is 100% correct--I'm much more careful now about what I claim to know. Paul said that in this world we only see truth through a darkened mirror, and I'm learning to be okay with that, too.

Because one day, we will see face to face. And when we see that face, in all its perfect majesty, we will finally understand the one thing that truly mattered.

Absolutely Amazing.

"You're amazing, young lady. Absolutely amazing."

Over the course of my life, I've been given compliments for many reasons: good grades, my writing, my piano-playing, my hair looking cute, blah blah blah, etc. There is one thing, however, I have never been complimented for, until this morning: cleaning baseboards. At work, down on my hands and knees, scrubbing smears of dirt. Not expecting any thanks, not seeking praise, not feeling particularly noteworthy--just doing my job. And then a man walks in, sees me performing this menial, lowly task (not even a task I volunteered for, but a task for which I am getting paid), and tells me, in an awe-filled voice, that I'm amazing.

I was floored. And filled with joy. That in such an unremarkable circumstance, someone could still find me remarkable. And I suddenly understood with a deeper clarity why this was the job God had granted me.

Because today, God gave me a new lesson in something I already knew, but desperately needed to be reminded of: We can be amazing wherever we are. It doesn't matter what position we're in by the world's standards, whether we're a senator or the cashier at a fast-food restaurant, running a corporation or scrubbing floors. It is not the work we do that defines us, but how we accomplish the work we've been given.

We all have a sphere of influence. We are all called to be amazing and given the opportunity to do so. "In all the work you are doing, work the best you can. Work as if you were doing it for the Lord, not for people," (Colossians 3:23, emphasis added). Even if we never get to hear the praise for it. Even if God's the only one who sees--for it is the things done in secret that God blesses above all others (Matthew 6:4, 6, 18).

And one last thing: Don't ever pass up an opportunity to tell someone they're amazing. Whether it's a loved one you see everyday, or a stranger you may never meet again, whether it's someone who is serving you or someone you are serving--look for the beauty in the lives of others, and call it out. A few kind words was all it took to shift the perspective of my entire day. We need to open our eyes to the potential impact we can have on the lives of others. We need to start seeing people as the names and faces and hearts that God loves and has called us to love. This is how we become like Jesus. This is how we change the world.

(More) Lessons in Love.

Love her as I love her. 

Another thing God spoke to me recently. He was speaking to my mind about myself ("her"). Of course, my mind is a part of myself, but sometimes God has to do silly things like this, speaking to us in second- and third-person simultaneously, separating the old creature from the new one, in order to help us understand.

Stop speaking lies over her. Your lies hold her back, stunt her growth, squelch her faith. I have given her a beautiful destiny. I have given her power. I have given her My Spirit. I love her. Love her as I love her. Speak life over her, not lies. She has so much potential, waiting to be released from the walls you've dammed her up in. No more discouraging words. No more tearing down. No more reminders of past failings. She is My daughter, and you will not speak to her this way anymore.

It's an odd sensation, to have your mind scolded so fiercely while your spirit is set free. But that is how He said it to me, last Thursday night. Because He wanted me to realize that I am a person, too. His child, who deserves, by the blood of Jesus who saved me, the same honor and respect and love as His other children.

God is not pleased when we disparage ourselves; we win no humility points for it. To turn our judging eye upon our own hearts is not the correct alternative to turning it away from others. Rather, it is better to pluck that condemning eye out altogether--for there is now no condemnation for us who are in Christ Jesus and walk after the Spirit (Romans 8:1-4).

So just, stop it. Stop the beating, the insults, the you can never get this right. Those thoughts, though running through your mind, did not originate there. Do not claim them as your own. They do not belong to you. Those thoughts came from the Enemy, the one who hates you and fears the power you carry. Because he knows, if you could really learn to love yourself, even the messiest pieces, you just might learn to love others that way--with the love that comes from God Himself. The love that shatters the gates of Hell.

More Than Stem-Deep.

Listening to a worship song in Sunday School, the words caught the ear of my heart: I'm still just a seed, not yet a tree...

And I thought back to the time, several years ago, when my faith had suddenly exploded with new growth, and I truly felt like a tree--nourished by heaven, raising my branches high, spreading my leaves wide to drink in the sunlight.

But most days lately, I don't feel like that anymore. I am merely a seed, small and insignificant. Maybe a single stem, peeking out of the soil--but certainly not a flourishing plant of constant, upward growth.

That was when, in the midst of my muddied thoughts, God said to me--I'm growing your roots.

And as my heart began to churn, anticipating more, Truth poured in like a flood.

Maybe the growth is not as obvious as it was before; you cannot see the green shoots springing from soil, or the bright blossoms unfurling lovely petals. On the surface, it may seem as if nothing's changed, but do not look at the outward appearance, little one--look at the heart. I am rooting your heart deep in me. I am removing the rocks from your soil so you will not wither when the times of trouble come.

You are only a mustard seed, but mustard seeds grow into trees that sprout branches for the birds to rest in, branches that reach to heaven; mustard seeds move mountains. Because my power is enough to multiply even the smallest of offerings. All I ask, is that you offer it.

And when He spoke that life over me, I smiled. His words always make me happy.

I Made it Through the Year, and I Did Not Even Collapse.

My goodbye to 2012 was fitting: anticlimactic and remorseless. I set my alarm for 11:50pm, woke up for a few gulps of sparkling grape juice as the ball dropped in New York City, then crawled back into bed and tried to sleep while the neighborhood went crazy with the fireworks. Though I have never been more ready for a year to end, I was tired, too tired, to give much cheer to the new one that dawned. For me, it was more dream than celebration.

I can get so caught up in seeking out beauty, that I occasionally make the mistake of believing that every moment is supposed to be beautiful. But not every moment is like that. Some moments seep through the fissures that riddle our minds and are forever forgotten. Some are brutal and bloody as nightmares. Some are a chalky gray ash that stains our fingertips and turns everything hazy, lethargic and slow.

Because sometimes, we don't get the sparkling spray of fireworks at the end of the day. Or sometimes, the fireworks erupt out of the dark as a thunderous boom that sounds like gunshots, and you will never know that behind the thick curtain of your window, there is a brilliant display of color and light.

And it's okay. It's okay to have moments that are ugly. It's okay to have moments that are nonsensical. It's even okay to have moments that are utterly and absolutely ordinary.

It is not the moments that make us, but how we live in them--and more importantly, how we live from them. We may have a good moment, but it means little if it never builds toward better moments. And we may have a bad moment, but these moments give us the opportunity to learn and change and grow.

Moments are not grains of sand, but droplets streaming in a river, flowing forward with strength and purpose. And if a moment does not make sense, or bring happiness, or satisfy our expectations, take heart, for it is bleeding into something that does--an ocean of unsearchable depths and infinite mystery, whose waters stretch far beyond any horizon, bringing wholeness to our battered souls.