Chemo Day 34 - Gratitude

At my church's general congregation meeting on the first Sunday of each month, there is no previously arrange list of speakers.  Instead, it is an open mike meeting, where any member of the congregation may come forward and share whatever spiritual thoughts may be on his or her mind.  The meeting is preceded by a fast of at least two meals, and church members are encouraged to donate at least the cost of those meals to assist others in need. 

This "fast and testimony" meeting is one of my favorite meetings of the month.  I enjoy the unscripted heartfelt expressions of my fellow congregants, who are moved upon to speak of recent experiences that have strengthened their faith.  I typically do not participate as a speaker, as I am teach the adult Sunday School class following the general meeting, and am able to share during that class whatever might be on my mind. 

During the testimony portion of the meeting, another church member spoke movingly about his recent health battles, and of his wife's experience of stroke-like symptoms a few days earlier.  My heart was moved to hear him express his gratitude, and I felt prompted to speak.  I ignored the feeling.  A minute or so later, I felt a stronger prompting that I should stand up and share my feelings.  I once again ignored it.  I was on the inside of a row, I rationalized, and I'd have to squeeze my way past my family.  Plus, anyone who wanted to know how I was doing could read this blog.  I stayed put.  A third time, I felt a very specific prompting to share my testimony.  It was a specific feeling, almost a command, to get off my butt and speak.

I don't claim to be a spiritual giant.  I too often rely upon my own intellect instead of being attuned to the promptings of the spirit.  I often rationalize that I don't need to constantly seek out the mind of the Lord, because he's got better things to do, and I manage to stumble along just fine on my own.  Plus, sometimes it's hard for me to distinguish between true spiritual promptings, and something I might be desiring, but not sourced in the divine.  Too often, I feel akin to Elijah, who was looking for the Lord in the strong wind, or earthquake, or fire, but the Lord was not in the wind, or the fire, or the earthquake, but "a still small voice."

I finally listened to that still small voice, and stood up, worked my way past my family, and walked to the pulpit at the front of the congregation, intending to express how I had been stripped of pride by this cancer, and how I was taking one day at a time.  But I did not say that.  When I arrived at the podium, I started to speak without first composing the words in my mind.  Words poured forth without conscious thought.  On one level, I was aware of what was happening, and I was curious to hear what I would say next.  On another level, I felt closer to God than I had in some time. 

I expressed gratitude for the loving support of my family, friends, and colleagues.  I spoke of how my family had grown closer together and rallied as a result of this disease.  I gave thanks of how my consciousness had been raised, and how I had better learned to rely on the Lord, and not my own understanding.  I gave thanks for each day that my life was prolonged, living each day as if might be my last, but celebrating the gift of life each morning and evening.  I said how I was greatly comforted by the promise expressed by Job, that I knew, as did he, that my Redeemer lives, and that after my skin worms (or cancer) destroys my body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. 

My emotions were very close to the surface as I spoke.  My voice broke repeatedly, as the import of those unplanned words rolled forth.  I felt in tune with the mind of the Lord, and felt that burning within my heart, confirming the truths of which I spoke. I was not conscious of the effect my word had on others until I returned to my seat an noticed a surprisingly large number of people with tears on their faces.  After the meeting, many people came up to me and expressed quiet gratitude for my words, telling me that their souls were nourished by my expressions of faith. 

We all are sheep, and we all are shepherds.