I love my routines,
and the people who don’t like me (which is becoming more and more) love to say, “You’re very predictable.”
I don’t care.
They’ll have to change their underwear, when I shock them again.
My dad told me, “There’s a revival on in Lexington, Kentucky.”
This is my chance, I thought.
I hadn’t been anywhere in 4 years.
I told my friend that I wanted to go.
He said that he would think about it, and get back to me on Sunday.
I met with my other friend who retired last year. She’s a Jewish lady who is into spirituality, but not religion.
I shared my faith.
I said the name of Jesus.
A big feminist with blue hair sat down next to us and glared at me.
She reminded me of Jaws (the shark and not the James Bond Villain).
My friend called. “I bought the tickets,” he said.
“We’re on,” I told my Jewish friend.
“On what?” She asked.
“I’m going to get revived. I had the Holy Spirit for two months last year, but then I got separated from God because of sin.”
“What did you do?”
“I think about women all the time.”
“I know. The world is going to hell.”
I hugged her, and left. Then I went to pack my bags.
I had never been to the South. People were friendly there. Crowds were lining-up outside the Asbury Chapel, but they were only admitting ages 16 to 25. I was in my mid-thirties.
When I tried to sneak in, they asked for my ID. I didn’t dare lie. They redirected me to the gym.
“I should’ve made a false ID,” I told my friends.
People were worshiping God there, repenting, and reading from the Bible.
I felt this gold glow surround me. A warm feeling penetrated my insides.
Ordinarily, I am a skeptical person who loves to make fun of organized religion.
This event happened spontaneously.
19 students were praising God in the college chapel, and they all began to experience the presence of the Holy Spirit. They skipped their next class and began to praise God. Soon, word got out, and hundreds filled the chapel. Their praise and worship got shared on TikTok.
Thousands, from all over the world showed up, including me.
I met two engaged couples. One was Amish. The other was a Mennonite.
The young man was looking for a sign from God that he should marry this girl.
I wouldn’t have needed a sign. I was envious of him. She was beautiful.
He asked that God provide a ring.
His niece was talking to somebody on the bus.
“Who are you talking to?” He asked her.
“God,” she said.
“What is God saying to you?”
“He said to give you this.” She handed him a ring-pop.
Now that he had a ring, he needed to ask her dad’s permission.
When he drove his truck to her house, he came out.
“He never comes out.”
When he asked, her dad said, “You have always had my permission.”
Then he took her to a lighthouse and was about to propose, when she got down on one knee and proposed to him with a ring pop.
(Ordinarily, I consider it a red flag when a woman proposes to a man, but in this case, God was in it.)
On the last day of the revival, I snuck past security and got into the chapel to worship God. It was like the Holy Spirit was the conductor of the worshipers.
The energy was coming from somewhere else.
“You got to hear this guy!” My friend shouted over the screams and singing and yelling.
I turned to shake his hand.
He told me, “You are like a sharp tool that will be used to cut away the shell of unbelievers.”
“That’s evangelism!” My friend shouted. “You’re going to be an evangelist!”
Since the revival, I have shared my faith with countless people.
“What did you do over the break?” A coworker asked me.
“I went to a revival,” I said.
“If that’s a religious thing, I don’t want to hear it.” She held up her hand.
“Okay,” I said.
“Are you in some kind of a cult?” She asked.
“No. I just spent my vacation worshiping God with believers from all around the world.”