The Desperate Cry

I can't imagine anything that God responds to quicker than a desperate cry for help.

I have three of the most beautiful kids in the world. It's true, ask their mom. They look just like her. Both Zoe and Ezra have, at times, had night terrors. Ezra had them more often than Zoe did. Night terrors are awful, they are like a nightmare that you cannot wake up from. Our sleep will be broken by horrific screaming which will send one of both of us flying, wide awake down the hall to comfort the screaming child. With terrors, they aren't awake and it may take 20-30 minutes to get them awake and calmed down.

I think God, the Father, Abba, is like that. When his child cries out in desperation he comes running. And I don't think he comes running faster if you are a Christian, as opposed to non-Christians. We're are all His kids. In fact, it's entirely possible, that as a Christian, we possess all the necessary tools to fend off desperation. It's entirely possible that God responds quicker to the lost soul.

I believe I've been called to intercession. That sounds like such a noble thought, a grand role, but today I was broken of that notion. I wake early (or try to, this week has been better than others) to read the Word and pray. Today, God started showing me pictures of people in desperation. Not a comfortable thing.

I saw a woman huddled in a corner after having been raped. I saw a girl looking in the mirror, hating herself for the abortion she was about to have. I saw a Goth staring at the self-inflicted wounds on his arm. I saw someone at a kitchen table, writing a suicide note. I saw the sorority girl in bed, covers pulled up over her head, weeping over feeling used. I saw prostitutes crying for a way out.

And as I starting asking God to meet them in their desperation, I broke.

I felt a modicum of His heartbreak over the lost, the desperate. I felt the Father weeping over his screaming and pained child, unable to wake them, unable to comfort them until he could wake them up. I felt a very very small fraction of His desire to lift those out of desperate circumstances. And it broke me.

I tend towards the sensitive as far as movies, sentiment, and worship are concerned. But this was more than sensitive. This was burdened. This was intercession. This was standing in the gap between God and desperate man. Connecting the two through prayer, feeling the pain in each. Melting down like a wire unable to conduct the surge of power coursing through it.

And through it all, I was ashamed. Society, and Robert Smith have told me that boys don't cry. And then I was ashamed to be ashamed. It's one thing to break over your shortcomings. Its entirely another to break over someone else's. I expect more breaking tho. And I welcome it.

Someone else I know did the same thing. And He suffered more than I ever will.

This anoallasso stuff is hard. What was I thinking?

a.

posted by Renovo Creative @ 11:22 AM