When It’s Time For Sons and Daughters To Rise

When It’s Time For Sons and Daughters To Rise

Lately, it seems the world is a-fire. And if we look mighty close, persecution seems to be breathing hot on our heels. We’ve been relatively safe, it seems. But why should we be any different than so many others before us.

Growing up, being the good Baptist I was, I well remember that Calvary church where I went forward, with altars and water. So many tears were poured out on my knees there. A tender shoot, but I stayed a babe for longer years past that call too. Yet I felt Jesus in that newborn heart of mine and I couldn’t help but weep from the hidden treasures I didn’t fully understand.

But then I grew up and my faith not only become cold, it was like those metal ice cube trays that needed a lever to crack apart sticky frozenness.

So I took those hardened ways right out into life. All the more, I saw how Christians drop bombs with lies at worst, and ridicule at best. How they said a wanta-be pastor was demonic because he did not fall in-step with the local good ol’ boys club. True story. That happened more than once, to different people, in different locations and different decades. Seriously, two separate men called devil worshippers because they didn’t cow-tow to secret clubs and such.

Then there’s me.  The brunt of prostitute jokes {by a youth minister} and my best friend’s parents, also Christians who said my jeans were so tight {on my still innocent body} that a “baby would have a zipper on it’s face.” But first there are some certain acts that must happen for babies and I for one was too terrified of the pregnancy thing. I kept remembering what I was told, that a boy only wanted one thing. So the “one thing” scared me straight, in a sort of kind of way.

But no mind. Instead of dabbling, I just made it legal and married the boy while still a child, my senior year of high school.

Yet in those long-ago prodigal years, I didn’t run as much as I walked slowly away. And when I came back, I went first to the familiar denomination before eventually venturing out to where I’ve dropped denominational-ism and personal comfort zones. Yet all these seem minor compared to what is too come or what has already been, or even, what is the current state of the Church.

In fact, I’d been raised in a culture that almost totally ignored the Holy Spirit like a hole in a quilt. Except of course at conversion, which was considered His most important work while mostly ending there too. But I’ve found His work only beginning once I opened my eyes to it.  How sad if we should stop Him dead in His tracks when things were just getting started? “You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me…” Act 1:8 NKJ.  I want to move on with the Lord and not only is that witness of Him to others, but it’s also a personal witness in our own lives. He’s not only moving around us, He’s moving in us, as well.

So, go ahead and give me the whole enchilada. ‘Though swallowing it is kinda scary when you’ve been told your whole life to be careful of those kind of things. I know. The Spirit isn’t exactly tame nor does He fit in neat-n-tidy in our safe little boxes.

He’s pourin’ on some sons and daughters and I’m just wonderin’, who’s drinking and dreamin’?“For these are not drunk, as you suppose….But this is what was spoken by the prophet Joel: ‘And it shall come to pass in the last days, says God,
That I will pour out of My Spirit on all flesh; Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy’”Acts 2:15-17 NKJ

Because I do not wanta live like some ol’ stale piece of bread, dried up and crumbly from lack. Give me rich-n-vibrant living Bread. Give me the scratch my head kinda faith that begs, “Lord, how do I really, truly drink of this? How do I apply Life to bring death of this ol’ self?”

Give us voices who call from deserts or jails, like Peter and Paul.

Just give us, Here-I-am-Send-Me-people. And maybe those are found in your sisters, or mothers, brothers, friends, or perhaps as close as your own  mirror. But wherever or in whomever, perhaps it’s time to rise.

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Tammy is a redeemed punk rocking, partying, relationship hopping, rebellious prodigal who’s return to her first Love also shattered her neat-n-tidy denominational upbringing. She looks for beauty in prose, poems, & Christ-centered-theology, and used to pray for a flint-head to speak truth at any cost. But she’s found the biggest obstacle, is herself. To read more from Tammy check out her website, facebook, and twitter.