13 November

This is a story about a worship service I attended where the guy I had a crush on at the time was leading worship. I haven't felt the presence of God stronger than when I felt Him that night or since

Elijah walks back in, carrying his kick drum.  He places it down next to his guitar, and then starts walking back out.  As he does, he comes back into a standing position.  My back is to the door.  I'm standing by myself.  He looks up and we smile at one another.  His smile.  This isn't even funny.

But the smile doesn't feel conclusive at all.  He is constantly smiling.  He's a happy soul.  He's nice to everyone.  It isn't enough.  I wait.

The worship service starts strong and doesn't let up.  Between Elijah's voice, the strings, and the thundering claps of the kick drum, I'm not entirely sure that we are even on earth anymore.  Voice blend, broken up by the shattering beat of the drum, soothed by the sighs of the strings.  A little piece of heaven spilled into the room.  Prayers and praises go up and God comes down.  I feel Him pressing into the cracks of the bricks, suffocating any feelings from the outside of me.  It's only the two of us -- and the voice of everyone else, the one single voice of everyone else in the room.  My eyes are closed.

We worship like this for a while.  Our theme of the night becomes: "Let Heaven come on earth."  We repeated the phrase for a long time, just getting lost in it, exploring it and what it means.  When we finally fall silent, Elijah takes a deep breath: "Okay.  God is really laying something on my heart right now to share with you all.  I'm just gonna sing this..." He looks at the guy next to the lightswitch. "Can we just turn on the lights for this, just for a second?  I just really want to let God share this through me, no distractions."

We turn the lights off.  Everything is bathed in a bluish glow from the lights outside and the moon.  I can't see anyone's face, even when my eyes feel adjusted.  It's just the darkness and the sound washing over us, just the blackness and the hum of Elijah's voice pulsating in the air.  And God.  God is there, too, but He is just as invisible as the rest of us.  In the darkness, all you can do is hear and be heard, feel and be felt.  In the darkness you have to listen, and this is where I find God pressing Himself into the bricks, up the narrow staircase, into the hollow of the guitar, out of our lungs.  I find him seeping, pressing, bursting, rushing, flowing, ripping, tearing forth from wherever it is God can come from.

Elijah sings a song.  I'm not even really sure that it is a song at all.

You are beautiful to me.  You are wonderful to me.

Tears are pounding on the stone floor.  I can almost hear them.  I hear the sniffs of those in the group.  His voice... His voice is so passionate, reckless with love, careless with the love of Jesus.  It hurts to listen.  It twists something in the depths of me.  I let out a sigh, a sigh that I don't understand.  It's like an eruption of God from my chest; it's like an angel came down from Heaven, stole my breath, and then loaned me his for just a moment.  No one sings now.  Everyone is just quiet, just listening for that still, peaceful feeling to wash over them -- the thing that I like to think is the Voice of God.  I catch sight of it.  It's swimming about the room, touching everyone, flowing through them, one at a time until no one is left to be touched.  And then it keeps touching us... and keeps touching us.  And then after it stops, after Elijah's voice fades out, it rests in the center of the room - heavy and warm.  We are entranced by the emotion it radiates.  I can't explain it.  I can't understand it.  I just know that it is there.

I look at Elijah in the corner of the room.  His face is the clearest, illuminated on one side by the light from the window he stands by.  I wonder if my face is that clear to him.  He is wiping just under his eyes with back of his sleeve.  I start to wonder why he really turned the lights out.  I start to wonder why people are so scared to cry over God like that, to be moved to tears by the Holy Spirit.  Why can't everyone do that?  Why can't everyone be willing to express such raw emotion?

Several minutes pass.  Elijah starts plucking on the guitar again.  No one is talking.  A girl starts humming with the sound of the strings and then a few of us join in, just humming a tangle of melodies with the chords.  It sounds like another language.

A few more minutes pass and then Stone, the leader of the gathering, stands up.  "I don't want to interrupt this beautiful moment because moments like this are so great, but I just want to start sending a few people around to pray over you guys.  If you don't want to be prayed over, it's cool.  They'll ask first... and... we were going to have a message tonight, but I think that I just want to continue worshipping like this.  This... this is good."

I continue worshipping.  After a few minutes, one of the guys that I met upon walking in earlier comes and asks me if he could pray a blessing over me, and I consented with a smile.  He places his hand on my shoulder.  I can't hear him over the music, but I feel a hot prickling sensation in the back of my neck, like someone is dropping really warm water across my shoulder blades, coming from his hand.  It runs up the back of my neck, into the back of my head and all the way down to the middle of my back.  I wish I knew what he said.

He leaves and I thank him and then continue worshipping.  Eventually a girl comes up to be.  I don't know this girl.  I've never seen her, never spoken to her.  I don't know who she is and she doesn't know me.  I don't even know this girl's first name.

She's cute.  She has black hair and glasses and a big smile that lights up in the window behind me.  I can only make out her vague shape in the dim light.

"Can I pray for you?" she ask me in a soprano voice that reminds me of someone I know.

"Absolutely!" I grin.  She asks my name.  I lay out my hands for her to grasp.  She takes them gently and begins to pray.  It went something like this:

God, I come to You in prayer for Tessa.  I pray that she will know that she is beautiful and that you have touched her face, God.  She has such a gentle heart, Father, and I pray that she knows it is Your heart within her.  She is so gentle and peaceful, but God, her gentleness can be used as a weapon against the enemy.   People will see that in her, God, and want to know where it comes from, and she will lead people to You with her peace.  Help Tessa see the faces of the people she can help lead to You.  Help her to see them daily, Father... God, I pray that any hesitation Tessa is feeling towards a relationship right now, Father, that You will help her have boldness.  Help her to be bold, Father...

My heart drops.  I choke on my own air.  Needless to say, I am crying and I can't stop.  The words run circles in my head.  How can a girl that I have never spoken to in my life say such accurate things about me, and then say something about a relationship that I am feeling hesitant about mere hours after I was brought to tears twice by a prayer that I've been praying for a month?  I don't believe in accidents.

She pulls away from me, cradling my arms.  I wonder if she can see the tears on my face.  I don't rush to wipe them away.  She is looking at me, but I can't see her eyes.  "Is there anything specifically that you need me to pray for?"

I almost laugh at the fact that she is asking.  I clutch her in a hug.  "No that were perfect.  Thank you.  Thank you so much."

Then... Thank you God.  Thank you so much.

Because I know that this girl wasn't the one speaking to me.

The service continues for two more hours.  The girl's words swirl in my head like gale force winds, but despite the cacophony of thoughts bombarding my mind, the answer couldn't be more pristine.  I'd felt God speak to me before, but it had never been so tangible.  And I had never felt His voice this strongly.

My voice breaks on the next song.  I am trembling.  I feel tears coming and mid-chorus, I back out of singing.  I can't.  The words press too tightly against the lump that has lodged itself in the base of my throat.  I take a deep breath and try to begin again -- but I can't.  My voice has been smothered.

And the only thing that I can think is: God has given me his blessing.