productive praise.

I was in awe the first time I volunteered in live production at James River. I remember sitting there at the computer, flipping the lyrics and the screen notes, so acutely aware of the responsibility and the incredible blessing it was to have even a small part in facilitating the worship of thousands, and all I could think was... "God, why in the world would you give me this opportunity?" I was flabbergasted that He'd even see fit to let me sit there. Let alone touch stuff--stuff that would instantaneously appear to thousands down below.

I don't share that often, because I know it makes me look like a major nerd.

But it was, and is, such an incredible experience.

I sat up in the darkened production room that first morning on my own, everything still so new and mysterious and...technical. From behind me, I can hear the director, "One, take, three, take, slow push on five, take..." Next to him, the assistant director, "Last line coming up. You can lose your lyrics." A person or two passes through, some sit for a moment, watching it all on the multitude of video screens flanking the back wall. From the headset in my ear, I can occasionally hear the producer down in the house, asking about video times. People sit at the boards, next to the director, iris-ing in or out or whatever they're doing. Next to me sits some fancy-looking recording equipment which I assume is doing some fancy sort of recording. The sermon begins, and suddenly, there's a strange connection between you and the pastor. He doesn't know it or you, but it's there. For 35 minutes, you become John, or Tim, or Curt, or Scotty's assistant, tracking with him through the flow of his sermon, point by point. "How are we on time?" "He didn't use that reference first service, but stand by for this service." "He is really flying through those scriptures."

It's a magical world, as much these days as it was in those first days.

And still, when I'm there in a quiet moment, I realize. I'm in the nerve center of a church I visited to mock, helping guide thousands of people through worship. Whatever I've done wrong, God is giving me this truly amazing chance to be involved in a way He knew I'd find exhilarating, and challenging, and fun, and deeply, deeply meaningful. What a compassionate God.

Who is this God who would not only call me and save me, but then place me in His church in a way that He knows makes me happy? What did I do to deserve that?

Nothing.

I'm reminded when I am up there, that all good things are from Him, unearned, and so I offer them back in worship. One screen at a time.

asker's odds.

"Professor, there appears to be an odd finding in your numbers."

No, nah, scratch that.


"Sir, you have a supernatural glitch in your data."

Bah. Blerg.

I'm drafting an email to a psychology professor and researcher whose paper I read this past week. In a nutshell, the paper is predicated on the notion that attending church acts to restore our cognitive resources (ie. helps us to better deal with life). To that end, these researchers surveyed 771 college undergraduates, asking them about the frequency with which they attend church, their reasons for going to church, the activities they most partake in at church, and the outcomes they feel are a result of their church involvement.

Psychologists are great at statistically validating things we already know, and this study was no exception, but wrapped up in this one was something cool.

They found that students who reported engaging in what they termed "Asking" behavior at church also reported feeling more attentive, focused and effective in their lives as an outcome of their church attendance. "Asking" in this study referred to asking God for help and forgiveness.

There are three things you should know.

Firstly, this one finding, this link between asking and effective functioning was far and away the largest effect size found in the study. Secondly, asking God for help or forgiveness predicted greater effectiveness in life above even the stated goal of wanting to know God. There was still a strong link between wanting to know God, and effective functioning, but significantly lower than that of asking and functioning. Thirdly, you would expect that any effect of asking God for help would be mediated through a sense of calm. I ask God, I feel calmer, so I function better. But that's not the case here. Though there was a statistically-significant link between asking for help, and feeling peace, the connection between asking and effective functioning was much, much stronger (think 3% versus %28 prediction--which would you rather have?).

In English, then.

1. The most incredible finding in the study was that asking God for help was associated with students feeling more effective in their lives.

2. Students who asked felt more effective than students who merely sought after God, or spiritual feeling.

3. Asking didn't just correlate with students feeling more peaceful about their lives, it actually correlated with them feeling that they were more effective in their lives, regardless of whether or not they felt calmer.

So all of this begs one question: What the flip is going on with this dude's data?

You read these studies, and sometimes, the findings are a little fishy for a supposedly closed and God-less system. But, since most of the researchers are liberal agnostics or atheists, everybody just seems to scratch their heads, and move on. This time, though, the finding was too big to ignore. The researchers acknowledge the oddness in their discussion, saying that "Because the asking items deal with issues that cannot be resolved by an individual, the strong relation with effective functioning points, even more clearly than the spirituality results, to the importance of being able to offload difficult issues onto a higher power." Basically, they're saying that asking is cognitively-adaptive because it allows people to pawn off their problems on a god, freeing up their mental resources to deal with situations they can fix.

And this is true. Spirituality is adaptive in that way. I make no secret of the fact that God can do things in and through my life that I alone cannot, hence my asking. But, the problem remains--if that explanation cut it, you'd expect to see students reporting greater sense of peace as often as they reported effective functioning. Not so, in this case.

It seems that whatever those kids were asking for, their prayers were answered.

unimaginable. real.

Half-way through Nancy Alcorn's sermon tonight, it hit me.

The last time I heard her speak, 10 months ago, I had not accepted Christ in any truly meaningful sense (though I considered myself a Christian, albeit a very liberal one, theologically). I had been attending James River for about 6 weeks, and was struggling with the idea that I would call home a Pentecostal megachurch. I knew only a handful of people.

This time, I was sitting there listening to the production team chattering in the headset in my ear. I knew almost everyone around me, if not personally, then by sight. Tonight, I am saved.

God is moving swiftly through my life.

Sometimes, I think this is all so dreadfully slow. I feel like I'm constantly failing--not loving people enough, not controlling my mouth as I should, worrying when I ought to trust, stressing out over the seminary decision, and a million other indiscretions that all add up to me to a zero on the holiness score. I think, "When will I have it all together?"

But tonight, my life came into focus for a moment. I realized that though it might feel slow, and sometimes painful, it's all right. He's got it. He has it.

I could not have guessed the first time I saw her speak that I'd accept Christ as a savior. And certainly not that the second time, I'd be involved in the church and growing towards Him. So I wonder...what is there tonight that I cannot guess?

I look back at the last 11 months, and the details that lead me to here are so intricate. Things that I didn't understand, that I thought were mistakes or misfortunes, were so perfectly timed to lead me to James River, to Christ, to serving Him, to growing in Him.

What is unimaginable right now? What seems fantastical? Where will We go together next?

I don't know. I don't need to know. But I am fascinated, and excited, and swept away in Love.

truth implied.

I'm in a distinctly different time of being right now. Eleven months ago, it was all about skepticism, and social exploration. Then it was about the possibility of truth. Then the probability of truth. Then accepting the truth. Then coping with the truth. Then living with the truth. And now, I'm figuring out the implications of the truth.

I'm learning, now, how to live in the church. How to unpack all of these strange Pentecostal-isms, and how to navigate the modern megachurch as a volunteer. How to show loyalty to my church while maintaining a questioning mind.

I am figuring out what to say to my friends about my faith, what to say to my classmates about my religion, and what to say to my church friends about my past.

Sometimes, I'm failing. I know that I need to put away the shock, and deal with things like tongues. I need to take in stride new ideas and phrases, even when they are legitimately shocking (like when I found out that girls down here don't ask guys out, or that there's such a thing as a "born-again virgin," or that people really have a thing against stupid, 10-dollar Oiuja boards).

Sometimes, I'm just trying to keep up. The megachurch is a mysterious force, with its fierce loyalty around the center, and gray lines tracking across the terrain of staff, and volunteer, and attender. Lindell said last week that one of the benefits of church involvement is that people rowing the boat rarely have time to rock it, and that is so true. I find myself feeling fiercely protective of James River these days, knowing the hearts of those who give so much to advance the cause of Christ, and taking part in the work that moves it all forward.

Sometimes, I'm surprising myself. At dinner with friends a few weeks ago, I found myself skipping a glass of wine. I didn't think about it for five minutes, it was just reflexive. I thought, "I volunteer, I shouldn't." And that was the end of it. What was most odd to me is that it would even occur to me. I'm not a visible volunteer. No one knows me. No one cares. And I personally have no ill will towards alcohol in moderation. But I still had the sense that the cause of the church was more important. That the issue of a glass of wine in public was so small, it just didn't warrant much thought. Though, it certainly had warranted thought within the previous 5 months, during which I'd believed passionately that the ban on alcohol down here is a detriment to the understanding of true Christianity in the secular world. Things change, I guess.

So I am adjusting. I'm learning how to keep some opinions to myself. I'm trying to learn how to show humility. I am figuring out there are many different kinds of Christian, not all of them peachy to deal with, but all of them family. I'm moving into a place in the Body, discovering what it means to be there, and to work towards a common goal, week after week, with people I don't always understand or agree with.

I like it.

now I believe.

Missions.

The very word comes to me with a slew of old prejudices and negative connotations. I'm not alone.

In the secular world, the idea of Christian missions work can be synonymous with the Inquisition in the popular imagination. Christians going out into the world to enforce their beliefs on peoples and lands who have their own unique and functional systems of thought. As we learned in school, missionaries often brought with them diseases, weapons, and a sense of ethnocentric superiority that wiped out native populations. Paradoxically, missionaries brought death.

Modern day missions in the minds of many unbelievers don't fare much better than their historical counterparts. If you ask my friends their opinions of missional activity in the church, they're likely to give a host of unflattering adjectives: arrogant, nonsensical, wasteful, misguided. The nice ones might start with "I'm sure they have good intentions, but..."

We were educated in a culture that was keen to point out American inadequacies. And this sense of self-criticism became overlaid on not just American history, but on any seemingly imperialist impulse of Western civilization. Thus, missions, with its focus on conversion to Christianity, and then necessarily on degradation of innate belief systems, became a bit of a dirty word in my mind. Missions were a manifestation of that insidious absolutism which our education in pluralism was trying so hard to extinguish.

But I'm no longer debating pluralism in a first-year AnSo class, and I'm not that same girl who did. So when a missionary came to church last week to speak, and ask for help raising funds, I was surprised. I've been around this church for almost a year--hearing about missions trips, praying for the safety of those in the field, moving in what sometimes seems a painstaking crawl towards an understanding of the necessity of salvation for every person, in every place. Yet, I had an instantly negative emotional reaction to his talk of missions (though an instantly warm feeling toward the hilarious, well-reasoned, and obviously gigantic faith of the speaker). Here was a pocket of unexamined, and unchanged beliefs. A time capsule from 11 months ago. Ok, well, what am I going to do with the impulse, the left-over beliefs?

Obviously, my view of missions needs to be tweaked. Shifted, perhaps, from that of an imperialist move of human will designed to wipe out indigenous culture, to that of a loving wave of God, washing over His land, attempting first to understand and relate to a culture, then to find common ground before sharing the Truth.

This shift is not to make myself feel better, but to be more in line with reality. I assume that most missionaries don't go into the rain forest and immediately begin proclaiming souls to hell from a perch on the tribe's sacred statue. So, the reality of modern missions is step one.

Secondly, the reality of God. Either I believe that Jesus is the Truth and the Way for all people, in all places, and at all times. Or I don't. And, if I don't, why do I bother to believe? What rubbish was the logic that led me to here? Assuming Truth in place of rubbish, the reality of God is an impenetrable force for missions. The love in my heart would impel me to share that love, and the full conclusion of such sharing spreads to all the corners of the earth.

I'd do well to remember one thing: Someone acted missionally in my life. And now I believe.

small graces.

After yesterday's post, someone text-ed me to tell me that I am "loved and believed in." She offered to talk, and pray. Her kindness touched me deeply.

Her words reminded me of some things.

Firstly, that though I may at times feel misunderstood, I am most certainly not alone. That, no matter the differences, love is universal. Interest, and care, and gentleness, and helping--these are all things I am continually shown that see no theological debate, that harbor no knowledge of philosophy or culture. Sometimes, I make too much of the differences.

Secondly, that it's not about me. She reached out to offer care, beyond herself. And she was able to do that presumably because her faith gives her peace in whatever trials she faces, such that she has peace to spare. Peace to give to others. Oh, that I would be willing to give so much to others. Not that I wouldn't ever feel alone, or scared, or uncertain--but that those expressions would be second to my sense of compassion, and service.

I am thankful for people who take the time to share small graces. The effects of grace are never small.

this week.

I'm struggling this week.

I feel alone here sometimes. Like I can't talk through things with friends inside the church, out of fear of offending them or being misunderstood, and as though I can't talk with friends outside the church about the issues because anything I say would reinforce their negative stereotypes of the church.

It's a sort of self-imposed isolation, I know. The fears are real, though.

People want to understand. They just... well, usually, they don't. Because they can't remember what it was to not have Christ as a part of their psyche. Or they don't know what it is to have had confidence in a completely different world view.

We're all taking refuge in Christ, in the forgiveness of our sins. But, I think it's different to come from not really having formed a well-organized world view, than to come from a lifetime of thought and wonder and strongly-held life philosophies.

It's hard to explain to someone the sensation of sin not having been sinful.

And it's a tough trick to mix certainty in your own experiences with the humility to grow. I've been wrong about so much, but that doesn't make everything I know wrong. There's difficulty in bending to people who really haven't had to bend--I think sometimes, like me, they don't know how. When I moved here, I was shocked at all I never knew, and I think it's the same for some people I've met. They don't know what they don't know.

That's part ego, and part truth, but wholly real.

Believing isn't easy this week.

a fool's secret.

I keep a lot of secrets. Worthless secrets. Secrets better brought into light. Secrets about how I feel, and what I think, and how I live my faith.

I keep secrets in faith because I am so afraid of being seen as foolish.

But what could be more foolish than living a secret faith? The reality is that if any of this is true, I am unstoppable. A child of the Most High. I pray, and He listens. I ask, and He provides. I love, and He strengthens.

So...either I am wrong about all of this, and I am a fool. Or, I am right about the Gospel, and my inheritance is breathtaking, and assured. I have been saying that I am right, but living as though I am wrong. That is no way to live.

I need grace. My foolish fears seem insurmountable. Just the idea of making this blog public makes my palms sweaty. I'm nervous, thinking about friends from home and school reading these words.

I can, however, bring myself to start small, by making this blog honest. And so, I am pushing myself past comfort, by writing about my top three most highest craziest secrets:

Number three: I secretly cannot imagine leaving the Pentecostal fold.

I have googled "Assemblies of God + Chicago, IL." No lie. As much as there are beautiful and reverent touches in the Episcopal church, and I've not yet been offended in a truly non-denominational church--I like this worship, and my heart says good things about the doctrine. I don't look like it, and I certainly don't act like it, but I consider myself "AG" at this point. The passion for worship, and the freedom to glorify Him is irresistible, and I won't go back.


Number two: I may have, at one point, a long time ago, possibly been called to seminary and some path through "ministry."

One of the hardest parts of figuring out the faith over the past ten years has been that I've felt that the purpose for my life career was tied up in the faith. So, whenever I walked away from Christ, I felt that I was also turning my back on the plan for whatever I was to do. Journalism, law, psychology--all second best. But I never wanted to choose faith based on some vague notion I had about my future goals, and not on the basis of its truth. Quandry. Of course, ministry is everywhere, in every field, and I could still be "called" to be a psychology professor. Who knows.


Finally, my number one, top-guarded, secret:

I hear tongues in my head. Not all the time. Usually when I've been called out of bed late at night to pray. I sit in my living room, whispering prayers, and I feel a soft touch, as though God were telling me, "Stop. Listen." So I stop, and I listen, but soon, I begin to pray again, this time silently, in my heart. And I hear it, this beautiful and lilting language, coming in short spurts, and He stirs me to open my mouth, but I'm too scared, so I pause, and begin again in English before the touch comes again. "Stop. Listen..." Truly stunning moments with God.

And I am truly stunned to be sharing these things. They are secrets no longer, in one sense. In another, they are still the things that bring fear to my heart when I think about being found out.

The things that make me feel foolish.

like you just don't care.

The fireworks finish. Group 1 Crew is rocking it. And I find myself jumping up and down at the front of the stage, my arms thrown up in the air, shouting along with the crowd as the band dude says, "God is big!"

I look over towards the tents flanking the sides of the stage and see Curt Cook nodding along with the music. I look around me. The crowd is a jumble of ages with energy in common. I look up into the night sky, and feel in the strangest way that God is pleased that I am so happy, so free. I feel safe. This is my church. That is my pastor. These are my body. I don't understand all of what is going on. But I can trust these people while I'm not understanding. I feel so safe. I am in the moment, and completely myself. I want to lift my arms, so I do. I want to jump up and down, and dance, and shout. So I do.

I guess that seems simple. Maybe it should be.

It definitely should be. Since it's not, I'll rest happy knowing that I trust this church. That's big for me.

I trust that though there are things I don't like, the people saying them see more than I do. Without devaluing my own abilities and intellect, I'll trust that they have spiritual understanding that I don't have. Without throwing caution to the wind, I'll travel with them down unfamiliar paths, trusting that their guidance will bring me closer to God.

It feels good to trust. It feels gooooood. And it felt good to get over myself last night, and to do what I felt.

Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in what others must think, I forget to trust them. I forget that I am often now surrounded by people with faiths much firmer and smarter than mine, and that I can trust their love for me. I need not be afraid of judgment--if what I am doing is good, they will rejoice with me; if bad, they will show Grace through the righting. Not that those processes will always be perfect--none of us are perfect people--but I am safe.

I realize, too, that I am taking a sharp turn here, from where I was. And that what was refreshing and interesting about me is possibly in the past. So I ask myself-- this trust, this new desire to be wiser with criticism, is this really the direction you want to go? It's certainly not the direction of many of the new Christian bloggers. But, I think I've got the mistrustful misanthrope down just fine. I've learned there what there was to learn.

Now, I want to trust. I want to learn. I want to sink back in safety, knowing that I can relax, let it all happen. I can grow.

I can throw my arms up in the air.

twi-l-a. not paris.

My first ILA, in tweets:

1:41pm -- My Mom agreed that Lindell is like, the best preacher ever, so we didn't have to fist fight. Now on to ILA.

1:57pm -- Holy Mother. 65 backed up allllll the way past the exit at Division. Is this for ILA?

2:26pm -- Um. Could that JRLC spot be any more awesome?

2:55pm -- My Mom just bought a James River Women tee. What is happening?

3:06pm -- This place is awesome. I wanna live here.

3:23pm -- My Mom, excitedly: "I'll wear my teeshirt to the conference in October!" Cute!

6:31pm -- The dogs are fed and happy. The humans too. Now for round two of ILA!

7:10pm -- Note to self: If you want to hang in the evangelical world, you'll have to deal with this kind of odd politicking. Keep your eyes on Christ.

7:21pm -- That LED screen is ridic cool. Parents are getting snow cones. This is sealing my inability to leave James River.

7:31pm -- There's a ton going on, but it's still a field, and I'm still praying. For awe of God in every heart. And no rain!

7:34pm -- Go @trevor_birch!!! Rocking it on stage!

7:41pm -- How incredibly beautiful this must be to Him. So grateful to a church who pursues God, and a God who pursues me.

8:08pm -- Love the stinking proposal story! Eeeeeeee!

9:22pm -- That military tribute was awesome!

9:25pm -- Um. My church does things WELL.

9:30pm -- Amazing to me how we're not in a James River building right now, but we are in the James River church.

9:42pm -- As fantastic as these fireworks are, they are my first with Christ as savior and that makes them so much the sweeter.

9:56pm -- Dude, they're like the Christian Black-eyed Peas. Undoubtedly an answer to Jon Acuff's prayers.

10:02pm -- Imma drop some smarties and bust it.

10:49pm -- Just lived the fun I never had in the church. Dragged friend all the way to the front and broke it down!

10:50pm -- Also, I should be as free on Sunday mornings as I am at the Group 1 Crew mosh.

10:56pm -- Cannot find the car. I think funny. My Mom does. not.

11:12pm -- Completely exhausted. Happy. Thus my Twitter documentation of my first ever ILA is officially done!

11:50pm -- Okay, final ILA tweet: Let's get up and do it all again tomorrow!

Next up:

1. Throwing my arms in the air like I just don't care, and other thoughts on (my) Pentecostal identity.
2. The church through new eyes: Take-your-parents-to-church Day.
3. Free, indeed.

petering out.

What was I thinking?

Church with my parents? I hate church with my parents. It's so awkward. Church with strangers is hard enough.

Okay, get a grip.

But see, that's just the thing. If this were anything else, I'd have a grip. I don't generally falter to the normal blocks. Public speaking? Love it, let's do it right now. Paper due in 5 hours on no sleep? Stress makes the words flow.

But emotional vulnerability. Standing in awe of a God who awes me, though He is my Everything, in front of others...and I'm racing Peter to a denial.

I'm a faker. A failure. I was talking to my Dad a couple of nights ago, and he asked me if I thought I'd be comfortable in seminary, given that I am an "atypical Christian." I should have asked what that meant, but, surprised, I simply said that I didn't consider myself to be an atypical Christian. There is no core doctrine (that I know of) with which I depart from fundamental lines. If you've been reading this blog for awhile, please take a breath, it'll be all right. I was surprised, too.

But, that my Dad doesn't know, that I've represented so poorly my experiences here, tells me that something is wrong. That I'm hiding. And doctrine aside, my discomfort at the idea of tomorrow morning with my mother and stepfather, tells me that my heart is weak.

Granted, we all have weak hearts. We all have soft spots, and leaky valves, and failures. But I'm afraid that this is a very important weak spot.

I live in fear of being found out. When I talk to parents or friends about my James River experiences, I'm either giving my critiques, or speaking in vaguely general terms of how wonderful the people are. I'm never talking doctrine. I'm never talking heart change. I have a Twitter account that until recently was solely for my eyes, and even now, I purposely allow only SOMO Christian friends to follow me, because I am so openly, and emotionally Christian in some of my tweets. I do not link that Twitter to my Facebook, because I don't post that type of faith-related content to the wider audience of friends and family on Facebook. If there is something faith-related on my FB, it's a dispassionate news article, or a derisive Onion blurb. The only time I gave the address to this blog was in the very beginning, when I still intended it to be snarky and critical of organized religion--since then, when I've been asked, I have told friends that I keep it only as a private blog.

I read all of that, and I feel like giving up. I tell myself that I'll never be strong enough to live this right. That I'm a failure that God could never love. And that the odds against me are insurmountable. I'll never have a real voice with which to speak of God. I'll always be too weak to even admit to those closest to me that I am a believer. So why bother? What does this really mean, if I'm ashamed of all of it?

But I've made it this far. I have made it this far. The walls may not drop tomorrow. Or next week, or next month, or next year. But He has brought me this far.

I can go another day.

slow to anger.

I've been re-reading old posts. I was an arrogant brat. Like, wow. How did people stand me? How did I stand me?

Not that I'm not still both arrogant and bratty, but nothing like those early entries. I read, and my appreciation for the grace I've been shown grows with each word.

Though...I wonder if I've not grown less arrogant, as much as the focus of my arrogance has changed.

I was in class the other day, and this guy was telling a story of how he had been told by someone in a previous class that he was going to hell. Apparently, he wasn't told outright, so much as the other guy was asked if he felt that non-Christians were going to hell, and then my classmate took to rallying for a direct answer (that popular and often useless question, "So what about ME--Am I going to hell?"). As I listened to this story, I felt a new sort of defensiveness. And also a little exhausted with the ridiculousness of the conversation. In my head, I turned to him, "So let me get this straight? You're upset because towards the end of the term, someone who had never before ambushed you with any of these opinions, and was pressured into it this time, told you that he believes you're going to a place you consider to be imaginary and invalid?"

Of course, he wasn't. He was upset because his perception is that the Christian was telling him something bad about himself. "You will spend eternity separated from God," becomes something more akin to "You're a bad person." And because people are more interested in knowing what others think of them, than in knowing what others think of everyone, the part where none of us are "good enough" never makes it in.

This class has been mildly challenging because these issues are brought up fairly regularly. So far, the class has decided that it's ludicrous to believe in religious absolutes, that a stereotype of Southern Baptists as being "illogical" is more-or-less true, and that any negative view of fundamentalism (whatever that word actually refers to) is probably well-earned.

For the most part, I have kept silent. It doesn't feel like the time, or the place, to defend the Southern Baptists. Nor to lose my "cover" as a person they probably believe agrees with everything that is said.

But, that doesn't silence my mind. And in it, I can be harsh. Sometimes, I want to say, "Hey look, at least the Christians can tell you where their absolutes come from. Your relativism is really just an absolutism predicated on the hubris of your own mind." Or, "You know, you spend far more time slamming them than they do you." Or, "Isn't is just as ludicrous to believe that there is no God, as it is absurd to believe that there is? You first."

And then immediately, I remember. I'm not so old in this. I'm not so wise. The benefit, in fact, of being new, is that I can still recall what it was to be accepting of relativism (though I was never a fan of it), and to be openly critical of Christians, and to believe that their beliefs were crazy. Of course, I still believe some of what the Pentecostals do is a little left-field. So, my quick anger in these discussions is hypocritical at best. Damaging at worst. My silence is the saving grace.

But at some point, I should speak. I pray continually that I can be what these Christians were for me. Where I expected to find judgmentalism, they showed grace and love. Where there could have been anger or defensiveness, they've shown confidence and trust in God. Oh, Lord, if I could only ask for one thing...

Thankfully, I can ask for many. And so to grace, I add love, and wisdom, and patience, and always, always, always humility.

something new.

I'm asking why. Why, God? Why Southern Missouri? Why a megachurch? Why Pentecostalism? Why these people, and this time, in this place?

I'm looking for clues to know what to do next. Because I am lost. I have less and less of an interest in pursuing a doctorate in psychology. My only current use of my research skills is searching the academic databases for peer-reviewed papers on tongue-speaking. I'm not presumptuous enough to believe myself to have been called to seminary. Because I'm waiting for an engraved invitation from Heaven. Which leaves law school.

The truth is that I don't want to leave here. I don't want to leave James River. And I don't want to leave any of the people I've met there. For so long, I lived this conflicted faith, where nothing ever made sense, and I was always the outsider. My faith makes sense now. I learn more of God every day. I understand things I didn't. I'm in worship that thrills my heart. I don't want to go.

But in ten months, I'll be done with what I came here to do. I'll have to go somewhere new, to start something new. But what?

Early on, I stayed at James River through "crisis" after "crisis" because I felt that I was supposed to be there. Even when I sat, sighing and spazzing through sermons, I felt I couldn't leave. I had been placed. I wouldn't leave as long as I felt the truth of that. I still feel that truth. So I stay. But that's not the only reason I stay now. I gave my heart to this church, and its mission. I've never really fully done that before.

It feels good. A little scary. Sometimes like I'm a follower. Powerful.

But some day soon, it'll feel heart-wrenching, and sad. There'll be a last service, and the fairy tale will be over. I've not yet been through a church transition. I don't know what it's like to leave a body you've loved, to go join another.

I suppose that the excitement of whatever He is bringing you towards sweetens the hurt of leaving what He has given you. But I don't really want to find out any time soon.