last Sunday night, or “doing business with God”

. . . but I want this “transaction” to be finished quickly, and apparently that’s not going to happen . . .

I came into night church and wasn’t really in the mood to pay attention . . . but I found myself being drawn in, almost in spite of myself. Alton talked about Peter, about how he had gone back to fishing after he had failed Jesus . . . (I had heard this before, in a different context, about how when Jesus died on the cross, His followers had no idea what to do and so they went back to fishing) and he kept saying, “but Jesus didn’t create Peter to fish for FISH, He created him to fish for MEN” . . . and so God and I started to get into it, as I like to say . . .

what I wanted to know . . . “so if You didn’t create me to ‘fish’, or to be a ‘tentmaker’, then what the @#$)(& DID You intend for me to do?! and by the way, just how long is this going to take?!” maybe I wasn’t quite so demanding and rude as that . . . or maybe I was . . . at any rate, I could feel a pull in my soul and was like, “there’d better be an altar call” . . . I think I would’ve gone up even if there had NOT been one . . . go figure . . . but he did say, “and if this is you, I want to pray for you” and when he gave the call, I “busted” (as Sara would say ) out of my seat and virtually FLEW up the center aisle (trying not to think about all of the eyes on me) and knelt before the cross, weeping silently, pleading with God, “how long, O Lord?”

the only slight problem was that as I started walking up, Alton was like, “so if you feel like you’ve failed God, and He’s never going to be able to use you now, come on up”–and although I was already walking, I was like, “Wait!!! Stop the presses!!! That’s not why I’m coming up here!!!” but I was already walking, so there I was . . . and with him saying that, God brought to mind a few other things that actually DID fit in with what he was saying, so it was okay. no, it was better than okay. I don’t feel like I got any answers, but I guess being at the point of pleading and begging with God to show me the next step isn’t the worst place a person can be . . .

it’s just so hard to wait for the next step. and all this week this “tired of waiting” feeling has somehow morphed into a “hope deferred” sense, and I guess now I just feel like my heart is sick with the waiting for my life to start . . .