Parts is parts...

My life keeps changing. I know for the better, but still, we grow attached to what we had. This morning I woke thinking about Corinthians 12:
To one is given through the Spirit the expression of wisdom; to another the expression of knowledge according to the same Spirit; to another faith by the same Spirit; to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit; to another mighty deeds; to another prophecy; to another discernment of spirits; to another varieties of tongues; to another interpretation of tongues.But one and the same Spirit produces all of these, distributing them individually to each person as he wishes.

I was wondering why certain prayer experiences had been changing for me. The most obvious reason is that I have filled my day with more "manual" labor. That is, I am with people more than I have been in the past. I am making human contact and that is always full. I miss my personal prayer times, but I am less inclined to attend to them because...simply enough, I have no one to speak with them about. I wondered why that might matter and decided that I was an incredibly shallow or weak person to need a guide, or a witness, to what happens.

None of that should matter. I recall deep moments with God as a child when no one was around, the walks in the woods, the bicycle rides, the tree climbing...God was there. I knew God was there...and it didn't matter if anyone knew.

But then adolescence hit and being noticed mattered. But what would an outsider think about these conversations with God? A risky business to share. But an even riskier business not to share.

I am a speaker in tongues, and an interpreter of tongues. Before you judge, let me explain: I offer clues to what I know...someone must interpret them for it to make sense; just as I listen and try to interpret what someone else is trying to tell me.

I am not talking about a strange language here...unless of course, you talk with a teenager, which is always in a strange tongue, or so it seems some days. But all of us offer clues to who we really are, ALL of us are being whispered to by God and ALL of us need interpreters for the journey.

Lately I've had to dig deep for interpreters. I have serious trust issues. So I may offer a little of what is going on and just watch and see how that person deals with the little bit, before I share the important stuff.

I think we all do that. Test the waters. See how we are treated when we are a little but vulnerable before allowing ourselves to be completely vulnerable.

And that, my dears, is where true ecstasy lies. In vulnerability. Share it with a human being and the risk is great...but sometimes a child is created...or more. Share it with God and you are never disappointed.

Having a conversation with someone can be like going into battle. You have your weapons of knowledge and maybe a talisman, like a crucifix or cross or Bible...you train for it, with prayer and exercise, you learn how to listen and then to speak in such a way that your words do not make a wall between you and the other. And if your words cut...then they need to be close to His words...so that they only cut to heal.

Have I completely lost you? Engagement and encounter. Close and far away. Empty and full. Perception. Experience. Tradition. Reason. Sacred Scripture. Gifts of the Spirit.

The horizontal and the vertical.

My complaint: an interpreter of tongues. Specifically an interpreter of my tongue. The bottom line of all theologies: "Why is this happening to me?" The question by itself implies dialogue, demands dialogue. Between you and me. Between me and God.

These parts of the Body. The only reason it works is that each of us is unique. We all have a song that is ours alone...and in particular, we each have a note that God has given us and he has given it to no one else.

If we don't sing our song and use our God given note...the world is less than what it has been designed to me. And how, my dear, can a song be heard if there is no one to listen?

Clear as mud? sigh

Love anyway,
Cindy