at the altar.

God is doing incredible things in my life.

What can I say? I know how lame that sounds to a secular ear. I know how hard it would be to explain or describe to someone who doesn't believe in the divine, let alone the divine interventionist. And there are places and times for a fine-tooth comb. For philosophical proofs, and "decisions and revisions," as T.S. Eliot might put it. But credit where credit is due, my experience is my own, and God is working through it.

Often over the past couple of months, I'll have made a decision about some facet of my understanding or involvement in the Christian faith and body. And then I'll be faced with its antithesis. For instance, I had decided yesterday that maybe I wasn't meant to be in the body. I've always been a bit of a wild card. Maybe that's my role now, too. Maybe I'm meant to sit outside the church, on the steps, saying hello happily to people who pass in, but not joining in, not playing a part. Why is it so hard for me to get along with the church, I wonder?

But then, as has happened so many times, God brings me in, opens my eyes, and says, "Look." And I see. How incredible.

I was at prayer meeting tonight. As I stood, the woman next to me started crying. I'm no stranger to people in extreme emotion, but this is church. I know what to do when someone calls for a counselor, and I'm on the clock. I don't really know what to do when a stranger next to me in the pew cries for help. How sad is that?

So, she's crying, and somehow I put my arms around her. Then she sobs, and leans into me. And tells this most unbelievable story about what she's doing in SOMO. Her loss overwhelms us both. We spend the service together. As I lean close to her, she rests her head on my shoulder, and I begin to understand. I didn't want to come tonight, but I came. And had I not come, God would have used someone else to minister to her, but He didn't want someone else. He marked me.

I've been wondering what work the church can do in me. That's not wrong. I need the wisdom and encouragement offered there. But I should also be wondering what work I can do in His church. The woman keeps telling me how grateful she is for the love she's being shown in this place. It would take too long for me to fully explain to her that God is giving to us both right now, abundantly.

It doesn't end there.

I have written on several occasions about my... inhibitions.. involving laying of hands, and approaching the altar. God must have decided that tonight was the night. Curt Cook opened the altar, and the woman said she'd like to go. Before my brain could catch up, I heard myself asking her if she wanted me to help her there (she was in a lot of physical pain). She said yes, and in the millisecond that it took me to catch up to what I was about to do, I thought I'd pass out. We made it out of the row, and I almost laughed as we walked forward. The only place open was dead center, in the spot light. No hiding this one.

So I found myself at the altar, kneeling, and with my hand on a complete stranger. And in that moment, I felt, "I want to do this for the rest of my life." What's "this"? I don't know. Love people? Serve God? Both.

Driving home, I thought, "I can't believe you touched someone, held someone, and went to the altar. See? You can do this stuff when you need to." And then, "Is that really how you want to live your life? How you want to serve Him? I will if I have to?" No. It's not. And it's not the lesson He gave me tonight.

God isn't saying, "You can do this when you need to." I think He's saying something more like, "Love me. When you do, I'll give you every ounce of the strength and courage you need to love others."

I've been so worried about whether I can do this, whether I can make it all work. How do I be humble? How do I be loving? To say the words doesn't seem a task. But to think about the full import of what it means to follow Christ to those ends is staggering.

Tonight, He reminded me that I'm not the one making it all work.