This Weird Girl

I read the Bible. I believe the Bible. I do my best to live by the Bible.

I can’t remember ever not knowing God and being known by Him. I made a fully conscious decision to give my life to Christ at eight-years old, wearing my blue with white polkadot dress, fully immersed in a pond amidst a cheering crowd of about 60 kinda-hippy campers at the “Lord Hill” retreat my mother brought me to. My brother laughed at me, “Haaaaa haaaa! Now you can’t sin anymore!” I retorted, “That’s NOT how it works!” as I looked down at the little baptism certificate in my lap. I was totally serious about my baptism and newness of life.

I knew. I really knew.

The details of my 50 years of faith will have to come another time. But today, my time has almost come. The testing of my faith, the painful discipline of my Heavenly Father, the Word infused, the Holy Spirit’s voice- visions, dreams, and His still, small voice. Every 18,418 days of my life.

Imagine the universe, with all its matter scattered to infinity, starting to collect as galaxies and stars and planets, coming together into one clear objective. In my case, the bits and pieces of truths revealed over my lifetime have been so scattered I couldn’t see them all at once. They were always just too far away from each other. But now my Lord is bringing them all into view at the same time. Closer. Closer.

It’s both intimidating and peaceful; crystal clear at times. But vanishes the moment my focus goes back to the temporary concerns of the world. Sometimes the two go side by side, and that’s the best place to live in my humanity.

I have visions. They’re different from dreams. Don’t ask me how I know, other than they get confirmed or come to pass. They’re not like fortune telling or seeing the future. They’re more like direct instruction or wisdom of a thing. I sat with Jesus on a park bench once. Don’t even try to tell me it was just a dream. It was real.

I’m not much of an intercessor. Most of my prayers consist of worship and adoration and pleas for help in better worship, adoration, and Christian living. But sometimes things happen. Miracles of healing and answered prayer. I have no power, but sometimes God honors those special prayers.

But this? This new season in my walk with Jesus took off exponentially in October 2020 with a few prayer beads and falling asleep in His arms. My last three years at the Catholic church in my hometown has nourished my soul beyond human comprehension. Trust me, I’ve tried to explain it to some people- three of them recommended I contact my psychiatrist. I checked off the boxes, and yes, my psychiatrist was making some faces, but at least she didn’t adjust any meds or slap any new DSM labels on me. She just told me to keep an eye on it.

I’m no stranger to mental health struggles. I spent 30 years with hormone related problems that were labeled clinical depression, anxiety, and Bipolar II. Every time I showed up in a psychiatric crisis center I was on the last two days of my period or post-partum… with six little kids, financial strain, catastrophic betrayal by a friend, broken down vehicles, moving a lot, and marital abandonment due to his work obligations. Now that I haven’t had a period since February, people say I’m calm. And I feel calm. It’s like the real me returned after losing her when I was nine-years old (my FAVORITE age).

But yeah. When you start telling people you’ve been having more visions, dreams, and hearing the voice of God (not audibly)… that you’ve been repeatedly told you have an anointing, a high calling of nation-changing significance of the likes of Joan of Arc or Joseph of the Coat of Many Colors. When a priest widens his eyes and says, “You are a living saint!” (I told him, “Well, if y’all decide to canonize me after I die, you better not be doing the whole relic thing. I don’t want any piece of my existence focused on more than Christ.) And when the words of Jeremiah 20:7-10 put a concrete, irrefutable pen to what I’ve been saying the last few months, that’s freakin’ terrifying, y’all! It’s not necessarily something I want. Every day is a constant fight to keep a basket over my light because people just can’t handle me. It’s exhausting. The older I get, the less fun it is to be talented. I’d rather just be normal. People like normal, quiet people. Those are the folks who end up in commercials. Not people like me. Anyway….

I go to three church services every Sunday- Catholic, Episcopal, and Southern Baptist, and they’re all saying the same thing all the time: Go where He tells you to go. The congregation nods, Yeah! That’s what I’m gonna do! But when I do it, the same people suggest I get my meds checked, at worst. At best, they say not like that.

I’m starting to get an idea of what God wants me to say. Every day is some new insight. But He hasn’t said the final go. I just know it’s getting close.

I can see the crossroads before me. Am I going to choose the cottage in the Blue Ridge Mountains, just leave me alone, get off my grass? Or am I going to open my mouth to the priest Pashhur son of Immer and be beaten and put in the stocks at the Upper Gate of Benjamin at the Lord’s temple?

You deceived me, Lord…

No, I will not be deceived. Because He has given me a choice. Lie in the grass and die in the grass. Or take My way and bring many with you.

Please pray for me.