My Buddy John Gibson and I sat on the back pew, slouched down low, knees propped up on the book rack on the pew in front of us, as the "altar service" began. It was Sunday night, just after the annual CA convention, (how many of you "old-time" A/G folks know what I'm talking about?) and we had not heard one single word the preacher had said. We were busy whispering about fast cars and pretty girls. A voice, not an audible one, but just as plainly heard and understood, says: "I want you to work with Royal Rangers and Youth." I dismissed it. This was repeated, slightly more emphatic this time. "But I am a Royal Ranger and a youth," I thought. "I want you to talk to them." This was crazy, and I as much as said so in my mind, but the conviction that came with this voice began to tear down my defenses. Like a swelling river, pressing against it's levies and banks, so softly... so slowly...something began to well within me. So compelling was this conviction that I now felt it prudent to go forward, kneel at the altar, and pray about it. Why, I don't know, but I did. Forty feet is generally not a long walk, but it is when point A is the back row and point B is the altar. I could feel John's eyes on my back; and in my mind's eye I could see him- jaw dropped, eyes gaping, wondering what force had taken hold of me...didn't matter, I had to do this. I got up there and prayed for what seemed to be roughly two minutes, about nothing in particular that I can recall, before I became acutely aware of a change in the surroundings about me. All the voices of other people praying, which were just two minutes ago scattered across the front of the church, were now coming from directly behind me, where I was kneeling. I was amazed at how quickly this could happen, and somewhere in the back of my brain I was aware that my subconscious self was making a quick mental note on a chalk board in reference to strategies on how to avoid this situation in the future. I raised my head ever so slightly and took a peek around. I was now the only person kneeling at the altar; and the whole church, it seemed, was standing behind me. They were yelling, "FILL HIM, LORD, FILL HIM!" "OH, NO!" I thought, I didn't want this! I had seen what it did to people. I had seen the Holy Ghost get on Sister Carter, causing her to jump up from the piano bench, kick it clean off the podium, and dance like John Gibson's sleeping bag. I had seen Regina Dew, when she got filled, running laps around the building at full tilt before busting through the back door and into the parking lot. I had seen my math teacher Mr. Speights, at Tom Sawyer Chapel, doing the best indian imitation I had ever seen. This simply was not my style. I began to consider my options. Number one: Get up, fix my eyes on the back door, and head straight for it, neither looking nor turning to the right or to the left. I decided to go with it, and counted to three. "One, two, three... go!" Nothing. Try again. "One, two, three...go!" Again, nothing. My body wasn't obeying my mind. Plan B: Just wait for them to go away. Wait, wait, wait. They got louder. Wait, wait, wait. Louder, louder, louder. Who was I fooling? These people never give up. How many times had I sat on that back row way up into the night, beholding the raving antics of these crazy Holy Rollers, casting out demons, healing the sick, praying people through. Plan C: Stand up and just act like I'm going along with them. This was, in my mind, the least desirable of the three options, but the only one I had left. Plus, my white knuckle grip on the altar was giving way, being as how they had been trying for about fifteen minutes now to pry me from it. I let go, but I didn't have to stand, didn't get the chance to. They just stood me up. Didn't raise my hands, didn't have time to. They did it. And I spoke in tongues. That flood, which had started by swelling against my defenses on the back row, had filled me and was now flowing up from deep within me. From my tongue, from my eyes, (boy, did it flow from my eyes) from my heart. Suddenly I loved everybody, and wanted them to know it. So I started hugging people and telling them I loved them. Sister Carter, my girlfriend Becky, (who was crying just as much as I was) Pastor Isaac, everybody. Some people didn't know how to take this, and tried to escape. Among whom was Kim Egan; whose eyes, when she saw me coming, grew as big as saucers and she broke and ran. But there was no escape for anyone. I caught 'em all. Get more from the Web. FREE MSN Explorer download : http://explorer.msn.com |
