I taught a yoga class yesterday. It wasn't my regular class - I was covering for someone else - but it was one of those sacred classes. The Spirit swept through that room like a barely noticeable, but thickly present wave. The mystery of life in Jesus opened up wide and, for a few moments, I felt like I was standing in a raw and completely immersed space. It was like my liminal space, my practice of Waiting, turned sweet. The desert dripped away from my body and left - Him. Just Him.
I don't know if it was as holy of an experience for anyone else, but I wanted to cry. More like weep. The gentleness of God, in their mysterious goodness, washed over me and I didn't want to move. I would have stayed there in the dim light, music playing somewhere around me, heart melting in that Presence. Their Presence. It startles me with its strength and swings over me like the branches of an old tree.
The Divine is my shade.
And more than the shade of a little desert tree.
They're like a tree that's rooted into solid rock, bent by the intensity of desert winds and thick with survival. They've existed here all along - unfazed by the deadness of desert. Fully alive. Vibrant. Quiet. Steady. Always flowing. Never needing me to acknowledge them to prove their existence. Reprieve from the intensity of Waiting.
I've been asking for depth. I've been asking for encounter. I've been asking for Presence.
And, just like that, I'm stunned. I'm teaching and they're speaking. I'm practicing and they're diving deep. The rest of my day is like a shadow. Nothing touches on the realness of that encounter. Nothing stirs my soul like the Presence that came for me.
And I just want more....