Dying and Rising

Last Weekend...
I was scheduled to help with the TEC (Teens Encounter Christ) retreat in Gering, Nebraska, and on the day I was supposed to leave, I completely lost my voice. I mean, full-fledged laringitis. Only a whisper would come out. I was supposed to be helping lead the music, work as a small group leader and give the "Signs" talk, as well as lead the ice breakers for the 60 participants. Do you see a common thread in these activities? Right, you have to TALK! And what did I have? Diddly Squat. I forgot to mention that I felt like crap, too. I made the decision to still go down there and come home if it got worse. It's kind of funny, though, because about 10 miles outside of Alliance, I turned back around thinking "they can do without me, I'm SICK". I drove about a mile back towards Alliance and then turned back around again to head back to the retreat. (Never mix sickness with an indecisive person! It's a scary combo) So I got there and all the leadership team was milling around, loudly greeting one another, getting things ready, and in a whisper I'm saying,"UGGGGG! Why am I here???" Well, I didn't know why, but I'm convinced now that God did. So, I just started writing "Wheat Letters". These are the letters that are given to the retreatants throughout the weekend by the "Wheat Team", which are the behind the scenes people who pray and serve the whole weekend. These letters are meant to encourage the candidates in their journey of faith during the retreat.
Let me backtrack and explain TEC. It is a 3 day retreat that follows the death, rising and going forward of Jesus. His Passion, basically. We look to him first and see how that reflects into our own lives. Very powerful. So we have "Die Day, Rise Day and Go Day". Die day is especially long and difficult. How much fun is it to talk about dying to self?
I started writing these letters in the back room and the more I wrote, the more I felt this keen sense that this is where I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to be doing. It was amazing that as I fell into the silence, I noticed how loud everyone else was. So much talking, so much noise, sometimes there is so little listening...
I stayed overnight on Friday, but felt worse and worse. On Saturday morning all the retreatants arrived and I stayed in my mummy bag, wallowing in my sickness. I'm sure that I would have sounded pathetic, except no one could hear me, because if I thought I had no voice on Friday, then it was twice as bad on Saturday. Our diocesan youth director basically told me to go home because there was a bad storm forecasted. I started to pack up my things, but I didn't feel peace with leaving, and then I felt the nudge to go pray in the Wheat Chapel. This is where everything changed.
My good friends Willa Cool and Stevie Rea were in there and they prayed over me. Willa started saying that I was there to experience a death to myself and to pray for the kids on the retreat. I just cried because I knew that was it. So, I stayed...And I prayed...And I fell into the dying.
It felt like everything was being stripped away. I wrote about it a little bit before, but it is so stinkin' easy to find identity in what we do. As in "I'm the girl that sings and plays guitar", or "Great Talk, Krista" or "You're so good with the kids". You know, whatever it is, it's easy to find my self-assurance there. I felt like this tree with the bark being stripped off in layers. I wasn't going to be allowed the comforts of what I could do anymore. It was going to be the real me having to hash things out with my creator and to have a heart to be doing what He wanted, even if it wasn't what I had envisioned. Letting Go. Letting Go. Letting Go.
Remember, Saturday was "Die Day". It was a day of utter silence for me, and I felt like I really experienced death like never before. It was almost like maybe my heart was able to feel a little more like Jesus', because it sure didn't feel like my own. It was beating with the weight of the kid's needs, the pain of my own trappings, and feeling God in the middle of it all and yet, still to feel so alone...
The last thing I did before I went to bed on Saturday night was to pray. It went something like this. "God, I know you have me here for reasons beyond me, but if you want me to give my talk to the kids tomorrow, then I need a little help with this voice problem. If I wake up with no voice, I'll know what the answer is and I'm totally fine either way..."
I woke up on Sunday and I had a voice. Slightly scratchy, but I mean, I HAD A VOICE! I don't know, does this really happen? YES, it does, and it did, and I was in awe! I was in awe because of the timing. Sunday also happened to be my birthday and it was "Rise Day"! I felt my spirit bounding, leaping, skipping. I felt like, "okay, this is way bigger than me, but thanks that I get to experience it!" I truly felt that I was being resurrected right then and there. The joy of just being alive for another year, the feeling of being healed and so loved, the idea of pieces being put back together. The realization that death is necessary for resurrection!
I continued in my prayer for the youth on Sunday. I still felt that it was my purpose for being there, but now it was with confidence knowing that this God is so Alive and desiring to work in ways beyond what we can understand.
I am so thankful for this weekend. I am thankful that I was forced into the gift of silence. I am sure of the many changes that happened in the lives of the youth who were on the retreat, and I am sure that this is only the beginning!