May 21, 2014
“Mom, I finally have the next entry written up,” I say as I fill my tank for the half-hour drive to my daughter’s soccer practice. “It’s weird, on the few nights I have been rested enough to seek God, He hasn’t been pulling me into His presence like before. Do you think He could have been waiting for me to write up what He already showed me?”
“Could be,” Mom replies. “Maybe He wants to make sure you’re committed to this process.”
I shrug off the question of commitment, God knows my heart. “I’ve never been one to keep a journal, so this writing what is happening as it is happening is a new thing for me… Maybe He’s getting me into the rhythm of it all.”
“I’m sure whatever it is, God has a good reason.”
“Me too,” I say as I climb back into the SUV, heading for the soccer fields in Kuna. “I’m on the road; I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you.”
I slap my hand to my forehead in frustration as I search for my iPad to put on some tunes for the short trip. “I can’t believe I left it at home. You have practice for an hour and a half. I’m going to be so bored!”
“You could always jog around the field, Mom,” Ashley offers.
Seconds after the words leave her mouth, rain pummels the car. I give her an appalled glare. She grins, “I have to practice in it, you can walk in it!”
The wind picks up; the rain comes in big sheets threatening to push my car if my attention lapses for a moment. “Maybe I’ll practice with God while you practice in the rain – if they don’t close the field, that is.”
Ashley puts on Tony’s huge rain jacket to try and keep somewhat dry as she goes to look for her teammates. It takes twenty minutes for the coaches to decide to take the field. I pull around to a good spot so the car is close in case lightening strikes from this storm and practice is called off. The weather app on my cell phone informs me that this storm is not only green (a basic light rain) but it has both yellow and the dangerous red weather cells.
I recline the seat to the maximum radius and try to relax all my muscles. The patter of rain on the windshield and the soft whoosh of the wipers whispers lulls my mind. Praise doesn’t come easy; my mind just isn’t there… “Holy Spirit, can you help my heart draw closer to God?” I ask silently before opening my mouth and allowing Him to speak in the Heavenly Language. My tongue moves of its own accord, pronouncing words that sound like an American Indian dialect. My mind focuses on God: the tingling comes swiftly and my breathing slows.
Looks like God was waiting for me to write what He had shown me after all.