pressed

When our hearts are pressed, what is inside comes out.Living life with people, it presses us. Pressing wells up emotion, clinging insecurity, clenching fears. And it gets ugly. I get ugly. And it is messy. I am a mess.Coming into the presence of a holy God who sees all and looks at us with great love, it presses us. Coming, being known fully, it is unnerving yet a relief to let go. Something I still long to learn more deeply.From my view in the back during services and concerts, I get to see a lot. I often find myself in a role to "catch" the "runaways" and the "criers"...there are quite often a few at each service. When the press either becomes too much and getting away seems the only choice. Or when the press becomes so tender the tears spill vulnerable. I reach a hand to try to still the running feet. Or to hold the weary head. Sometimes, I am only free to pray. But that "only" is so powerful. May I never forget.While we were in the UK and Ireland, there were a few times this press was evident. When Truth, tender and powerful rings out, it pierces inside us. And the tall man boys, voices dropped low, their frame stretched long, with an aching boy's heart still inside, are no exception. In one town, a tall man boy broke tears streaming, sobs heaving each time my brother sang the chorus from his new song "For My Good":

Nothing could ever come my wayThat You have not ordainedYou turn it all around for goodWhen the mountains melt awayMy hope remains the sameYou turn it all around for goodFor my good

A hard truth but a tender sweet promise. So I prayed, watching to make sure the men from their church would be available to encourage him. And they were.In another town, a girl hid in the shadows in the back corner. Head hung low, impending tears brimming. When I walked over and reached out a hand, she fell into my arms. Heaving, sobbing the heartache out. Praying her heart would receive the truth the Lord was speaking over her heart through the Scripture being sung over her. When her sobs slowed, she raised her head...snot streaming a mess. No tissue nearby, I offered my sweater. "Really?" her eyes asked. I handed her the hem and she wiped. Twice. We both laughed relief. And I could see the weight lifted and she continued soaking in the presence of the Lord.Truth presses us. Presses the hurt. The ugliness. The ache. The deepest places.May we not hide from this. From each other May I not hide from it. From Him. From what He is speaking over us. Over me.I need people waiting to catch me when I runaway. When I hide in the back crying. And I'm thankful I have them. Let us bravely and boldly be this for each other.