First Wednesday

Confession time.

I didn't even get 4 hours of sleep last night. I woke up walking sideways with an aching back (from sleeping on an inflatable mattress in the most-air conditioned room). Didn't feel like going to First Wednesday all day, and even pulling onto the parking lot at 6:20pm I still felt like I was on auto-pilot and just following wherever my shoes were pointed.

Oh boy, I'm glad I went.

I'm as dense as a frozen bowling ball and have a hard time following lofty theological discussions. My attention span is measured in yawns and seat-squirms. I need to have the point spelled out clearly, in bold printed letters, or my concentration ends up wandering away and getting lost in another hemisphere.

This guy made Christianity come alive to me for the first time (and I grew up being dragged, sometimes literally, to church until I was old enough to quit going) about 3 years ago. That's not kissing ice or praising or cheerleading My Pastor's #1, because God hates boasting as much as He hates liars. It's the plain truth.

And when I saw this ...

Tonight I had the chance to see God turn Perry loose to communicate the message of The Cross to the people who needed to hear and receive it the most ... people who hadn't arrived at New Spring by accident or by chance but because they'd been led to face making a crossroads decision about eternity, and where they would spend it.

God used Perry tonight to lay down what happened at the cross in graphic detail, to explain what Jesus's death and resurrection meant, and then slammed hell's gate shut forever for the people who came forward and accepted Christ as their Saviour. Souls were saved because they heard the message being communicated in a way they could understand. It was incredible listening to Pastor P firing on 12 cylinders and watching him hit 220+ mph crossing the finish line.

The enemy got his butt kicked tonight, and had to go home knowing he finished dead last about forty times.

That's not bragging, that's rejoicing.