This truth began to unfold in my story when my Grandmother was given 24 hours to live after a terminal diagnosis. Her life was miraculously extended for 25 years. And when God miraculously opened my womb, twice, after I had been told I would never conceive, I was sure to give Him glory for what no man could do.
When the mission statement of your childhood church includes Acts 1:8 “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” you are primed for a life of expectancy, a life filled with the wondrous works of the Spirit so that you may become a living witness of God’s power to then communicate it to a watching world. But as I left our tiny Mexican Mission for mainstream Christian circles at the age of 20 I wasn’t met with holy curiosity. I did not encounter child-like faith in a God who parted seas and raised the dead. I was met with systems of control and rigid intellectualism.
While I have a long history with mystery and disappointment and understand their weight as it pertains to the sting of hope deferred, a question began to surface in me. This question would become foundational for my call.
Are our efforts to make the Holy Spirit “accessible” actually an attempt to tame His wild ways? Are we more comfortable with predictable outcomes than we are open to the possibility of being surprised by Him? Has our human tendency for control prioritized modern templates as a substitution for the power of ancient practices and child-like trust? Is the Holy Spirit a distant concept or an intimate friend who shepherds, convicts and comforts? Does He know more than we do? Isn’t His line of sight better than our own?
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