to tell a texan.

"Do I tell them that I pray in tongues? That the "infilling" of the Spirit has occurred? That it occurs? Or, second blessing, as Wesley might have referred to it. Some call it the third. Are we saying it's the same thing as sanctification? I think that's a 200-year-old debate, Ash..."

I digress. Rather, I was digressing, in conversation with myself, in conversation with others tonight at a table outside Starbucks.

I think the Texan really wanted to know, which gave me every good reason to keep it to myself. The Brazilian was sly. Cool, like a cucumber.

"Do I tell them? How will that conversation play out?" I wondered to myself. I knew that if I said it out loud, if I admitted it to someone, it would become reality in a way that I didn't (don't) feel ready for. That the full force of my experience with God would slam into the public "Ashley" in a way that leaves no room for interpretation, no space for doubt. I would be openly, wholly "made" as a girl after God.

I feel too imperfect to admit to seeking God. Who am I that I would speak to God so intimately? Why would He allow me to come so close? I am heavily flawed.

But also greatly loved.

That's the crux. I feel insecure in admitting to praying in the Spirit not because I'm ashamed (though I fully recognize the difficulty of ever having to field the questions from my friends on the topic, and I'm scared), but because I falsely feel that doing so is analogous to how we would say "putting on airs", or making much of myself. Because somewhere along the line, I have picked up the dangerously wrong notion that only the perfect can approach God in tongues. So, I pray in private. I've kept such prayers to myself, for fear of arousing scorn from others who might point out my inadequacy. Silly fear, I know.

I've come so close to God my heart breaks in beauty, sometimes conviction, mostly in love. Breaks, and soars, and stills. Yet, my imperfection remains. A testament to my great need for grace. And a stumbling block to my honesty.

I sat at the table with them, wondering if I was ready to have an earnest conversation about tongues. Trying to track down all the ends of the many directions this discussion could have. Mostly, wishing I were more honest with myself--that I might be more open with them. I am making a secret of something joyful, and in so doing, am dampening His gifts both in me, and in those who would take joy with me.

Ultimately, I did not tell them. My stubbornness in thwarting the Texan, and my fear in fielding the questions, silenced me. I am, however, taking the advice of the Brazilian: "You should not tell her, but just blog about it."

Yes. Very, very cool.