Tenth Avenue North led the singing at our services Sunday morning and during one song the chorus say, "and we raise up holy hands . . ." Some of the people will do this, I never have. I don't think there is anything wrong with it, I just feel weird doing it. The people who raise their hands are those charismatic folks on TV who speak in tongues and heal people with the touch of their hands. I guess that while I've found these last few months attending this new church moving, I'm still working on the outward appearances.
The singer explained though that raising your hands is not saying, "hey, I'm super Christian, look at me raising my hands." but rather an outward showing of "Hey, I'm a mess and I need some help." I had the vivid image of a child reaching their hands up to be picked up by their parents. I like this image.
To further solidify this idea, the preacher (I'm still having a hard time calling him Pastor, another one of those childhood notions) started a new series on stress management and not surprisingly, the first step of handling the noise of life is surrendering your life to God. All of it.
That's scary. Not sure why, but it is. The whole relationship, a personal relationship, with God makes my breath catch in my throat. Strange, how the one person/being who is not supposed to ever let you down, is the one I'm most afraid to open myself up to. Even thinking about it now makes my chest tighten.
I'm working on it though. I'm ready to feel the peace, ready to let each day take care of itself, ready to be a better person.
I've put off writing this entry, the one that throws my new spiritual journey out there. Don't want to be one of those fanatical, you know. But I needed to for myself, if I'm going to work on this, it has to be fully.
So there you go, and someone please pass my mom the tissues.