Our family spent an April weekend in Estcourt, South Africa for our organization's first “Cluster Staff Conference.” It was a gathering of bases from South Africa (Bethlehem, Winterton, Durban) and Lesotho coming together as a larger YWAM family to grow in relationship with each other and with God. Though the scripture for our conference focused on being rooted in Christ’s love, two distinct threads wove their way into our weekend: becoming like little children, and disappointments that stemmed from seemingly unfulfilled promises of God.
As a result of the latter it was proposed that each person who could relate, who believed God had spoken about a certain issue and since that time had been strangely silent and distant, promise unfulfilled, each one of them was to find a stone. A stone for each broken dream, for every promise that had yet come to pass. In a time of worship and reflection each person would have a chance to bring his or her stone to the cross, laying it down before the Lord, offering back to Him the treasure that each was clinging to more than the One who gave it, a wordless deed conveying this: I trust You with this, God.
A small group of us had been asked to discuss how to arrange the chapel for this Saturday evening session. One woman said she felt like there should be candles leading up to the cross. Similarly, I felt like there should also be an isle leading to the cross, one lined with palm fronds symbolic of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem –and ultimately to the cross– for the joy set before Him. After the brainstorming, I acquired the tea light candles and only slightly defaced the grounds for palm-looking branches.
Of course, you can’t be in the middle of a garden on your knees, with half of your body in a bush while you hack away at its branches with safety scissors, without attracting some attention.
The children of each staff family, immediately intrigued by my endeavors, asked if they could help. I “agreed” and set them to a parallel task of flower picking to keep them busy while at the same time keep them out of my hair.
The cross stood several meters opposite the double door entryway of the chapel. Halfway through lining the isle with palm branches I noticed that one of the children deviated from her assignment and began scattering rose petals and leafy bits down the center. I stared in disbelief at the colored flecks. I could feel my frustration mounting as other children joined in, joyfully tossing their flower heads and plant pieces on my isle. This looks like a wedding isle, I thought incredulously.
THIS was not what I had in mind.
Then Holy Spirit gently spoke. Reminding me, rescuing me from my acute case of seriousness: Be like a little child. The kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.
Childlike.
I was so focused on the theme of broken dreams that I almost forgot the call to become more like a child. They were both major themes that God had been reiterating over the last 24 hours. How often had I allowed broken dreams to overshadow the invitation into joy? How often had I lost sight of the Dream Giver in the pursuit of the dream?
The overture was obvious. I shook off my own plans. Who cared how it looked. It was the Spirit behind it that mattered. “Don’t forget up here!” I called as I joined the children in their happy decoration celebration for the worship time ahead. Though we had finished the isle, the little ones continued beautifying the portico while the older children debated on what to “give” to the adults as they came into the tiny sanctuary for evening worship. So we prayed.
“What do you feel God is saying to you? Is He putting a thought into your mind that you want to share?” One child replied, “ I think God wants us to welcome them.” Another stated matter-of-factly, “I think He wants to give them love.”
To welcome us. To give us Love. We want to give You our grievances and YOU want to give us LOVE. How very like us. How very like You.
Twillight hues of burnt orange and deep fucsha made way for a royal night sky. Lights dimmed, candles lit, stones in hand we sang, lifting our voices in one accord to the One who loved us and called us. I sat on the floor, Caleb’s and Adara’s slumbering crowns resting in my lap. I looked at the isle, strewn in vibrant color. In the shadow and candlelight it looked very much like a wedding isle, ready for a procession, ready for a bride.
Then it struck me, a revelation that I knew as a concept in my mind yet for the first time truly penetrated my heart:
WE ARE THE BRIDE.
On one end of the isle stood a bride, a body of believers making themselves ready to move deeper with Jesus. On the other end stood a perfect bridegroom, willing and wanting to receive the bride before Him, for better or worse, seeing her faults and loving her anyway.
My breath caught in my chest and my heart began to pound. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the cross. I just couldn’t. Slowly my eyes would go down the walkway only to stop at the foot of the cross, yet all the while imagining that there, at the very place of the cross, was the radiant Bridegroom. “There’s gonna be a wedding, it’s the reason that I’m living…” The lyrics of a Prayer Room song rang through my mind. At that moment, though I knew what was at the end of this isle (after all, I had put it there) I knew that One day there would be a wedding, and the great marriage supper of the Lamb, and at the end of that isle wouldn’t be the symbol of a risen Savior, it would be the flesh and blood God-Man, Jesus Christ Himself, awaiting the bride who made herself ready for Him.
The hearts of children had heard the heart of God.
Making ready the way for Love.
“There’s gonna be a wedding, it’s the reason that I’m living…” Sweet Jesus, let this be the song of my heart! Take my heart of stone, fettered with the bitterness of unmet expectations, and give me a new heart, a heart of flesh. One that hears Your voice, strong and true. A heart like a child. You are coming for a bride made ready. Help me, Holy Spirit, in preparation for that glorious encounter with my Beloved.
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