Moments of holy

I seem to have the best of conversations late at night. Or I really should say very early morn. Sometimes it seems it is meant to be a holy place. The world quiets and hearts ponder. And sometimes in a moment of His holy, they open.

This past week it was in the grocery store.  I had just come from a divine and sweet chat with my dear cousin and friend. This chat too was holy. Holiness and love all wrapped up in 12:30 Am. Then off to get those necessaries at the store, real fast, before bed. Checking out in self check after my rushed run thru. Him there. I have always noticed his searching eyes. He risks for that moment, " I haven't been myself in two years." I stop. Moments. We don't get to design when we impact, but we can decide to receive the times with grace. I listen. Trying my best to hear where he is going, where he is trying to say he came from.  I mutter out the guttural WANT to help, but nothing really divine escapes my silly mouth till the end. This I see. He is lost. He knows God, or at least about this Jesus. But he cries out empty. I heard that at least. So...I let go of all the "what I am SUPPOSED to say" thoughts, and then it comes. The simple. And when I say it I feel Heaven's holy. " Henry. Tonight I am going to chatt with God. About you." He stops attentive and quiet. As I walk away I turn and say what we all long for. " He loves you Henry." Again. This holiness in a moment. Was it me? No. Am I smart to have discovered after random blabber what to say? No. It's God. It's His way. He always knows the sweetness of what is needed in a moment. He is accurate.

There are graces in grocery stores. Moments in all life's mayhem. Sometimes we blow by them. Because we feel the Henrys'  should know we really need to be in bed...not here at 2 Am.  Funny thing is, I am realizing that we are afraid of God unexpected. What will he have me do? We complicate the simple in a an attempt to protect ourselves. Because really. They are just people. Hungry and aching for the same thing. This love. That won't fall through. That can hold even them. So I've been thinkin. Maybe this is one of the reasons why people are the heart of the second greatest commandment. "Love your neighbor as yourself". When we know love ourselves, when we know God.... Then we can see people. Just these people. At 2Am or 3pm. "Love The Lord your God with all your heart." And then. Them. These. The least of and the random.

So. I go into liberal Starbucks and I see the name tags. I try remember the tidbits of their lives they offer. Why her parents named her Margy. The hurt behind why that other afternoon shift barista believes women need the option of abortion. Divine moments. Moments i can shed light on His value of life. The grumpy manager. She too needs eye contact and a smile. She resonates the pain of believing she is unseen. So. I pray His holy here too. In all this liberal. In all this lost. Truth is stark. But so is love. Sometimes we forget to second commandment before we open our mouth. "Love them Elizabeth."  Love has a voice. Love has this story that no ear can seem to shut out. This intrigue fed by our need. Love leads people to its source. To contemplate. Him. 

Maybe being worried we won't know what to SAY isn't the point. Maybe that's the enemy's sidetrack. The track we chase our tails in, again and again. The place we open our mouth and insert our foot into. The place we shirk the personal before us and say the writ of what flies into our brains. I am learning something. Something I may be scoffed at for and called indulgent for. And that's ok. I know what His nearness is teaching me... People can hear the right words in what you think is the perfect time. But if they don't know love first it bounces off. Liberal ho-hum? Love the whole world and be mushy gushy? No.

 " if I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal." (Vs.1 of 1 Corinthians 13)

 We can hurt people's ears. We can tell the wrong story about a very personal God. Hear that. Sober in that. Please. That hole God put in your face, that words can gift out of, can also become a weapon! Even when saying "right" words. I am not saying we need to pad the truth. Water down the power of its punch. I am saying that I resonate what God has placed all throughout scripture for us silly stupid sheep. Love prepares His way. So the punch of truth buries the seed safe and deep into a personal heart that is ready. 

Maybe we should ponder our love impact beyond our mouth impact. 

Because God sure seems to remind us in His word. A lot. Both thru example and direct command. Jesus didn't boycott the Whore. He loved her clean. He didn't shy away from the annoying tax gatherer. He saw a disciple. He didn't fling His Dads words and keep walking. He stayed and had supper with them. At their table. And all that love made all those words...all that powerful truth receivable. Even craved. 

I always wished I could make my own WWJD bracelet... Only the letters would be HWJL. How Would Jesus Love. Because for me, it gets this mouth a whole lot farther. His love came to this well taught, poised and composed truth flinger and changed me. Truth I was blessed to be around back then didn't seem to soak in. It didn't find a home settled, until He told me of His love...for me. 

That the cross. Was for me.

That He and I can have a love relationship that's  just us two. Couplet. 

That it can be that way for everyone. Gloriously and individually divine. Love broke through all those right words I knew, all the scripture I memorized, and breathed me into alive! My eyes opened. My understanding throbbed full. My hunger grew. My smile found its genuine. Because His love is a game changer. It's a matter of life and death.  And the scary thing is, He entrusts that story to my tongue! I can set fires and burn down hope. Or this. 

I can Love is patient. 

I can Love is kind

I can Love keeps no record of wrongs

I can Love bears all things, hopes all things, endures all....

I can Love without envy. Love without boast.

I can then see. Love never fails.

It really never fails.

There is a family here on these Kansas plains. They live like this. Even though they have been judged. Misunderstood. Pushed aside by their own people, Christians. Still they keep on.  Because see they have caught this. That God makes loving people the second greatest commandment for a reason. So I watch. Again and again as even the "Judgers" are silenced. Because they can't get around all this fruit. In the lives of the liberal youth changing. In the healing soul of the cast off divorced. In the rising hope of the orphaned at heart. Love stories of Jesus falling about this college, this town, this state, this Country. People have come to discover. Fall in love with. And want God... because of how they love. Like apples falling off a tree in summertime. All this fruit. Ripples of what God continually does because they said "Yes." to Jesus' command. "Love Me. Then love them." 

The way. They love. 

It's beauty. His.

We have moments of holy thrust upon us. More often then we realize. I just want to ask you to ponder. 

People. Moments God gives you. Moments that can't stay long. Use them full. Use them well. Tell a love story. The world is full of soap boxes with agenda. Soap boxes of liberal horror, but also so sadly, of misused and wasted truth. Flung out carelessly. Next time God gives you a moment of holy, dare ask a question. Not what was I trained to say. Not what am I expected to say. But rather , " God. How can I tell them they are personal to You? How can I help them taste Your love. Your story."

Then. Wait. 

His love sometimes seems to take a moment. But His love always comes. He will show you how to use the hole in your face for grace. He loves using the weak things of this world. Glory! Oh how I thank Him. 

This tongue needs Him. Needs to slow and remember to tell a love story. His story. And I ache with the prayer that I will honor Him well. Because I don't bear the gift of His testimony lightly. No one should.  

1 Corinthians 13.

 It's a place to start.