I remember the day I fell face down on the dusty rug in church and sobbed. I sobbed and then I went silent and I started to hear God speaking… unfortunately people around in church were getting too uncomfortable with some lady lying on the floor motionless, so they came to yank me off the floor .
What I remember afterwards is thinking, how did I get there? What made me fall down and cry during worship, nothing remarkable was going on, no altar call was being made, it was just worship and something hit me. Something so strong it tore me from reality. Melted my world.
It started from inside, I started to jerk uncontrollable, I started to cry. And all of sudden standing up was too proud a position; it didn’t match what was going on inside me, kneeling down would be to gracefully, I hit the floor; I went down to the humblest of positions. I wanted to roll on the floor regardless of the color of my clothes, I wanted to wipe my face with mud. That was how I was feeling. Something was picking me out piece by piece, from inside.
On the floor that night, I was empty, I was exposed, I was worthless; all I wanted was to be worthy. Even though I already was worthy, and clothed in glory, in that moment something had to give; I needed to be reminded that I was nothing before grace found me, I needed to be stripped; I needed to grovel.
God was breaking me
He does this occasionally because he loves us and doesn’t want us to hurt ourselves or fall out of grace. He breaks us so he can remold. He strips us of everything so that we are empty enough to for him to refill.
That was what happened to me that sunday night.
Photocredit: Storm Thorgerson