Listening to God's Call

Hey y'all,

It's funny how there are periods in your life when you will go through long seasons and it seems like you're not growing at all; and then within the space of a day you could be a whole new person with eyes opened. And it's not like you can force your eyes to open to some of these insights; you can only attribute it to the timing of God.

The last 48 hours of my life have been nearly overwhelming with their "rubber meets the road" feel.
And the funniest part is, hardly any of the events that occurred actually impacted my physical life directly. Still, God used them to absolutely grab my attention, the way He does sometimes.

It all started with Saturday night. Jacob and I were watching Monty Python. I tapped open my Facebook app on my phone to keep myself awake; and in the middle of scrolling, I saw a post that sent me reeling: One of Jacob's first "dad-friends" had drowned in a diving accident that afternoon. The post went on to describe the accident, how paramedics successfully shocked him back to life and medivaced him to Jackson where he was then in critical care and having cardiac complications.
We had not talked to these friends in over 18 months, since we had moved away from that area. But immediately I wasn't sitting on the couch in front of my tv anymore; I was, instead, sitting next to that man's wife in the hospital, feeling every emotion she might have been going through. My heart shot 120 miles West to be with that young wife and their soon to be 2yo daughter. There was a brief moment of helplessness as my own heart cried out, and suddenly I realized that I wasn't helpless at all: I could pray.
I have always been a timid pray-er. But suddenly, I became the kind of prayer warrior I had always dreamt of becoming. And I had no idea why this particular situation was different.
Suddenly, it wasn't enough to me that I was just praying for them. I had every ounce of faith that their entire church body and then some were praying that night for Cody; but I knew that there were more warriors I could call to battle with me.
I have always been a timid prayer request sharer. Like, it's never anybody's business. I'll get by. But then a question flashed clearly in my mind:
Do you believe in the power of prayer?
Um, of course I d--
DO YOU BELIEVE IN THE POWER OF PRAYER? 
I suddenly realized that I knew a group of warriors that would fervently pray for Cody, and he needed it. So I shared about the accident in my MOPS Facebook group. Immediately, several women assured me they were calling out to the Healer on Cody's behalf. And I was confident they were doing just that. I shared with my mom and also my grandmother, who I know are both Christians, but I've rarely included them in my own spiritual life.

Jacob and I ended up turning off the movie halfway through and climbing into bed because we were too distracted with what had happened in the lives of our friends. He was able to fall asleep after a brief talk of how lucky we are, how life can change in the blink of an eye, how sorry we both were for the circumstances. However, I found that I could not sleep at all. I sat up for two hours praying and scrolling Facebook, and thinking about -- nothing at all. Even though I knew she must be getting an overwhelming number of messages, I sent a brief "we're praying for you" message to the wife -- something I never do. I also shot off a message to her best friend whom I had also become friends with, letting her know that we were planning to be in Jackson all day the next day and to let me know if they needed anything from home that we could bring with us. Much to my surprise, she responded immediately and let me know that they had just received positive news from the doctors.
I thanked the Lord over and over and soon saw Cody's wife post an update on Facebook -- no major injuries, he was doing very well, he was on a vent due to the water in his lungs. His kidneys weren't functioning properly and that was the next worry; but my eyes finally closed peacefully as I rejoiced that my God is a miracle-worker.


The next morning Jacob woke me, restlessly waking up at 6:30 on a Sunday. My eyes hadn't even opened before I heard a command flash in my mind just as clearly as the question of prayer the night before:
Go to church. 
I had hardly formed an excuse before it resounded again.
Take your children and go to church.
Jacob had already risen and gone to the kitchen to start coffee and turn on the Sunday morning news. I, however, went straight to the shower in my first steps of hesitant obedience. Somewhere, I was thinking that even if we didn't go to church, at least I would have already had my shower for the day. I needed one before heading to Jackson to visit Jacob's housebound grandparents, anyway. But in the shower, the note of resolve didn't let up.
Why haven't you gone? What is your excuse?
Immediately my brain fired off a list of them: Church messes up my kids' Sunday routine. I feel rusty at community worship. My kids come away with illness whenever we go. What will my husband say/think?
In the face of my excuses, I suddenly was filled with a strong knowledge that none of them actually mattered.
Invite your husband, take your kids and go to church. That other mom in your MOPS group does it. Women everywhere take that important stand. Why won't you?

At 10:45, my husband was sitting next to me in the row of chairs and both my kids were excited to "attend church class", aka nursery. Katie has been asking me to read her Bible stories every night. She's asking a lot of questions. I know she needs to be here.
But what if it's the wrong church? What if the worship is wrong? What if the teaching isn't sound?
So many fears.
The worship was definitely different than any church I've been in before.
But isn't this exactly how you worship at home?
Yes, but I'm out of practice letting others see.
That's not what matters. What matters is what I deserve. 
Turns out, there was no regular sermon prepared for that morning. Instead, two women were giving a testimony of a missions trip that the church had sent them on. As soon as the pastor announced the agenda for the morning, my heart sank. We're not even getting an actual sermon, I thought. We hadn't attended church in over 18 months; of course we would hit it on an off-Sunday.
But as I listened, Jesus was speaking to me through their testimony of service to His call.

You see, this week our new MOPS season kicks off. MOPS stands for "Moms of Preschoolers" and it is a women's ministry I found earlier this year and began attending, at first because Jacob insisted, and now because it stole my heart. Ever since finding Jesus in my motherhood journey, a passion of mine has been to encourage and serve other moms. He recognized this in me when, after only attending meetings for a few months, He brought the leadership team to my inbox asking me if I would consider joining as a Discussion Group Leader (DGL). I knew my answer was yes! even as I tried to come up with reasons why I should be "pious" and "pray about it first". See, I had prayed about this decision already, even though I had no idea this is what I had been praying for at the time.
Last year, when we moved to this wonderful house and small town, I told the Lord that I recognized His blessings in my life, and I wanted Him to reveal to me any opportunities that I could give them back to Him.
As kickoff day approaches, my fears only amplify: What if I can't do this? I'm having a baby halfway through the year, after all. What kinds of moms will He bring to my table? What if I don't know what to say to some of them? I'm one of the youngest people on the team and I live further away -- what if I can't be effective? So many fears.
But both of those ladies Sunday morning looked directly at me and told me that God did not give me a Spirit of fear, that my job was simply to serve where called.

After the service, Jacob could only talk about how much he was glad we went to church. He asked me if a missions trip was something I wanted to do? I shook my head and expressed my 1000% confidence that I already knew where I had been called to serve.

And this morning I read Acts 1:8 at random while waiting for Katie to fall asleep during naptime; and Jesus reminded me that I have the Power to do what I have been called to do. That my fears don't matter at all in the face of such Power. That I can be obedient in anything because I have the Power of Jesus in me.

"but you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be My witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the remotest part of the earth."


An urgent prayer request was just posted in our MOPS group. One of our moms just moved to Texas today and was expecting her furniture to arrive this afternoon. Her youngest son (approximately 3 or 4 years old) was in some sort of an accident earlier this afternoon, and we are told that he is in critical condition. My heart breaks. But I do believe in the Power of prayer,
because, for some reason, the Lord decided to show me a whole lot this past weekend. My faith is strengthened. Thank You, Abba.