Witness

Sometimes I have experiences I don't know how to write about. I wonder if I even should write about them. They are personal experiences, are they to remain private as well?

My Dad once said that the most important thing about us is our testimony. And although for some that statement can carry a wagonload of baggage, there is something that rings very true and pure about it to me. I don't mean that the most important thing about me is my reputation. Some people interpret testimony in that sense. What I mean to say is that one of the most important things about me is what I have witnessed. My testimony is that--my account of what I have witnessed. My testimony is my story, and specifically I am referring to what I have experienced, seen, heard, and lived in relationship to God. What do I personally have to testify about Him?

I think it's important to share these things, with a sensitivity to the leading of the Holy Spirit in how and when and what we share. Seeing what others have witnessed often can help us to understand our own experiences and can also open us up to things we would not have been receptive to on our own.

But I would be remiss not to admit that it's important for me to mark these experiences in my journey. They are significant to my formation, to the solidifying of the work of Christ in me, and my blog has often functioned as an altar to me. When God did something significant in the lives of the Israelites, He would call them to build an altar. TO REMEMBER what God had done in that place.

The picture above is of one of the little altars that were built on the way up Cathedral Trail to the peak of Mount Katahdin. Most of the trail was blazed with blue paint on the rocks, but the altars are built up toward the top of the mountain for when visibility is poor. It's important to have altars you can see when things get foggy. They keep you on the trail. I'll never forget Ranger Bill saying to us, "Believe the markings, REALLY believe the markings." Even when another way seems easier, or makes more sense, or the rest of the crowd goes a different route.

Last night the Lord visited me in my sleep. Well, it was more like I became acutely aware of His presence. I didn't see Him. I didn't hear Him. But He took me back to a time that I had often asked Him to help me to understand. I was concerned that there might be something I needed to experience His conviction in. I had asked for it. I wanted to know if there was something in me that was birthing the things I was experiencing or if it truly was of Him. If it was sin, denial, blindness, deceit, whatever. Something that I needed to confess, or make right, or take responsibility for. The picture in my dream was of a white room. All I saw was the floor. It reminded me of the linoleum floor in the kitchen of the house where we lived in NJ. The room was empty. It was clean. There was nothing there I needed to take care of. Nothing I needed to confess. No conviction. No guilt. No condemnation. This was much more than a dream. It was more than an understanding that I received. More than a knowing. It was like a work He accomplished in me. It was not only that I saw and understood. He put belief inside of me that was not previously there. It was like the final word. Like He was saying, "You don't ever have to wonder about that anymore." Move forward.

A few weeks ago, I had a similar experience, except I was fully awake. I had been out and about earlier in the day and I saw someone in passing that I haven't seen in quite a while. Someone who doesn't understand me, and from what I know, does not care much for me. It was disturbing, but I suppressed it and went to bed. Sarah woke me up in the middle of the night, and I went to lie on the floor in her room until she fell asleep, the incident came back to my mind, and I decided I needed to figure out why I allowed it to bother me so much. I realized that I was feeling the pain of seeing myself by the perception of others rather than the truth. As I asked the Lord to help me to see myself in the light of truth and grace, the question came to my mind. Would I trade everything I have been through for where I am at right now, even if nothing else were ever to come of it all? I probed down into the core of my being and I suddenly realized I was experiencing something very strange. I felt something very solid inside of me. Not physically, but almost tangible. It felt like a structure, something enormous and strong and unshakable. The only thing I could even think of to compare it to was the picture of Superman's Fortress of Solitude. White Rock. But it wasn't quite like that either. I had to stop and ask God, "What is this?" I knew that whatever it was it was the most beautiful thing I had ever felt. That it was a treasure. That it was worth everything and more. That it was something that I knew,though I didn't know how, would outlast this lifetime...and then it hit me. This is eternal. This is eternity in my heart. For all that I have sown, what I have gained is eternal. It is the greatest treasure I could ever imagine, even though I have absolutely no clue what it is. For whatever reason, God gave me the ability to see it and feel it and experience it. I laid there on the floor in awe. I didn't want it to go away. I didn't want to ever forget what it was like. I wanted to know if I would always be able to quiet myself and be able to touch it again. And suddenly, the wounds from earlier in the day were gone. Completely insignificant in light of the rock in my soul.

These are the recent markings of my journey. I write about them so that they will be altars. They are the things I have witnessed. They are the things I want to remember.

What are yours?

11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

Ecclesiastes 3:11