Holy Spirit, Come Now
The anointing was so thick in that sanctuary you could cut it with a knife. That’s what the old folks used to say when the spirit was so prevalent that people were falling out on the floor, running, shouting, screaming, praising God for deliverance, healing, breakthroughs, financial blessings, you name it. God did it. It was palpable, visceral, you could feel it. And he could do it for you too, all you had to do was reach up and grab it.
On one Wednesday night after work the preacher prompted an eager and expecting audience to stand up, turn around three times, and “Get Ready, Get Ready, Get Ready” because late in the midnight hour God was gonna turn it around. “Whatever it is that you need,” he said, “it’s gonna work in your favor”. Obediently, I turned three times, reached up, and grabbed the spirit saturated air. I found myself on the other side of the church. I could hear my mother’s voice crying, “Thank you, Lord, thank you, Lord,” only it was not her voice, it was mine.
At the end of the night, I was hoarse, my voice was gone. I was the one crying out in gratitude. It was an out of body encounter. I left that night wanting to tell everyone, even strangers what I had experienced. For the next few days, it was all I could think or talk about. But, it was hard to explain. It was not mystical, laying on of hands, or prayer cloths pressed into my palms, no incantations, seances, piped in smoke, oil dabbed on my temples and forehead, or slapping into submission kind of thing. It was just an old-fashioned indwelling of the spirit that was already in the room. I knew I had been changed. I had made a personal connection with the Holy Spirit.
So even though I cannot quote scripture at the drop of a dime, speak in tongues, shout out of my shoes, refrain from a warm tardy from time to time, or resist dropping a foul word, when necessary, despite popular opinion of those holier than me saints and friends, I can still get a word through.
I know this because in my undergraduate college days, I stood faithfully praying in the financial aid line that snaked down the hall and up three flights of steps. My bank account was empty, and this was the last day to register. I prayed that a non-refundable scholarship to pay my tuition for that quarter was waiting for me at the window. I was the last person at the window to receive that award. God answered.
I am acutely aware because when my daughter’s heart valve became infected and threatened to stop her heart at age 37, I pleaded daily with God to save my baby girl, despite the odds, regardless of the technical delays, the unexplained fevers, all the doctors in and out with their speculations and other obstacles that might have hindered her healing. God did that and He continues to keep her healthy, in her right mind, and encouraging others to heal.
My mother knew it too. She suffered from dementia and Alzheimer’s disease, getting progressively worse over a six-year period. It was difficult to watch the vibrant energetic fully in charge beautiful woman dwindle away physically and mentally while feeling powerless to make it stop. She was very aware of her decline and fought every day to hold onto some semblance of control, even if it meant falling out of the bed when her legs no longer served her. When she had enough, she announced her departure. “I want to go home, now”. She had prayed about it. And one morning, after a fresh wash up, new pajamas, manicured nails, and a cute updo, she transitioned quietly into His hands.
I am glad I have a personal connection. I watch the darkened skin in the palms of my hands and the purple/black and blue stains on my fingernails slowly fade back to pink, and the subtleness of my skin revives itself. I am elated to see the ridges deeply set into my brittle nail beds begin to return to normal, and once again, I plead with God.
I believe God knows our plight in advance and will either get us out or get us through. They say that cancer is not the death sentence that it used to be. And I know that to be true as many of my family members and friends are survivors. Everyone’s experience is unique. My experience is no exception. I literally glowed from the radiation treatment. The aftermath, however, was figuratively explosive. Healing the burns was painful. It took weeks to heal. But nothing compares to the agony of the wait for the results. So today, I petition with resolve the Holy Spirit to come now and I look forward to that midnight hour experience.
I’m going through, yes, I’m going through,
I’ll pay the price, whatever others do;
I’ll take the way with the Lord’s despised few
I’ve started with Jesus, and I’m going through.
-Herbert Buffum, arr. William B. Olmstead, 1904
