A Surprise Visit

No one likes visitors to drop in on a lazy Sunday evening and interrupt your chill time. Right? I value my alone time greatly. The older I get the the more introverted I get. Yet, a surprise visit may not be all that bad.

Take this Sunday for instance. I'm sitting in my living room, watching my boy Kyle Busch take the lead at Talladega, when I receive a text message. A text asking if it would be cool for someone to drop in and pray for me. Perhaps I need to do a little explaining here. We have an awesome couple that heads up our music here at NHC: Ace and Sarah. Sarah's mom is pastor at another church, a church planter at that. Her ministry is really awesome, reaching all kinds of people, and meeting all kinds of needs. Apparently, on this Sunday evening, Sarah's mom felt compelled to drop in and pray over me and Crystal.

When I got the text, I knew something was up. You know, you always get this sense that some sort of divine intervention is taking place. So I totally conceded to the request. Within a matter of minutes, I have this woman of God, her elderly mother, and another prayer warrior in my house, interrupting my day of rest. But it was all so right. This woman spoke a word of encouragement that hit the nail on the head. Some might say, "She read my mail". God had sent her this way, and what she said totally helped me refocus on my calling and my mission.

Then, she prayed. And it was awesome! I felt the comfort and the power of the Holy Spirit in that instance. Woman of God, thank you for interrupting my Sunday evening. God, thank you for interrupting day of rest.

Beautiful Mess

Let me first say that I apologize for not posting a blog in while. Things have been busy. I have been finishing up this semester at Lee and working on getting my Bishops license. But this morning I scratched down a little piece of poetry, and I thought I would share here on the blog.


Beautiful Mess

Let me paint a picture with my words.
Flowing and growing, spewing and brewing
like streaks of paint on a canvas.
Strokes of red and black, pastel pink and blue.
Tacky and bold like me.
Misguided perhaps.

Is there a pattern or a method?
My words, my paint still searches for it
at the edges of the canvas.
Pulling out from the center
And being persuaded to go back in.
My words drip down the edge.
A mess of progress.

Too many lines above? I know.
Crowded thoughts, too much paint
yet such great flow, perhaps a little slow.
Yep. Tacky rhyming, mismatched colors.
A beautiful mess.
It all spills over.

Let me paint a picture with my words.
Flowing and growing, spewing and brewing
like streaks of paint on a canvas.
Strokes of red and black, pastel blue and pink.
Tacky and bold like me.
Misguided perhaps.