A Pleasing Fragrance
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| Photo by Dyu - Ha on Unsplash |
At some point this evening, I looked down at my hand's nearly healed wound inflicted by an oversized bamboo skewer designed for toasting a marshmallow. An hour from any cell phone reception I pulled out the first aid kit and tended to it. Within hours the bandage feel off and the wound had stopped bleeding. The mark is along my outer palm, but it reminded me of a vision I had during worship two summers ago. It was simple, a steam or mist emanating from the palms of hands open in worship, and it began to rise and fill the room.
Not long after I mentioned it to a friend who likes to, as she put it, "take a crack at dreams and visions." She asked if I was called to intercession. Okaaayyy.... I've never thought of myself as such. A worshipper? Yes. An intercessor? Nope. Well, maybe? She also mentioned the posture and the idea of incense rising.
I am aware that incense hasn't just been used in more Catholic-like settings, but in many Christian traditions. It was also used in the temple in the Holy Place, just before entering the Holy of Holies. There were times when God was detested by the incense that was burned in the temples. There were also times when the burning is a sweet fragrance to the Lord. That incense is our worship. Worship in spirit and in truth - a worship from the depths of our hearts and souls. I love worship. I love spending time in His presence, whether it is in English, Português, or some other language.
At the beginning of the month I went to a release event for the book Jerusalem Rising, the second in a series of then and now photography. Both this and the first, Israel Rising, have been powerful reminders to me that if God is actively keeping promises more than 3000 years old, He will keep the promises He has made to me. He will keep the promises He has made to you. An added bonus that night was the blessing of Messianic worship. Pieces that reminded me of songs I grew up singing in church, and when I would dance. That night I was too self-conscious that I would trip over my own feet trying to remember the steps to the grapevine to join the line of women who circled the auditorium. To me it was enough standing in the back hearing the words of one familiar song, some were singing in Hebrew, others in English, and I in Português. What an image that heavenly worship is, each in their own tongue.
May our lives be a pleasing fragrance to the Lord. May our worship be true and from the depths of our spirits. We are not just flesh and blood, but spiritual beings, with a spiritual home. We are just finding our way back, back home, to the Father who waits with arms wide open ready to embrace us in all our messiness.
As I contemplate this vision some years later, I will tell you that yes, I am indeed an intercessor. I will pray into the nitty gritty. The vast majority of the time my prayers are not in English. They don't need to be. He understands it all. He understands my heart. Worship is a battleground and is where much of that intercession takes place. Time to time God has called me to intercede for individuals. They have no clue. I mean it. Unless there's been some divine revelation, they really don't know, and often I don't know much of their situation or circumstances. I don't need to, He already does. I pray as He leads, as I press in on behalf of others: gratitude, blessing, provision, healing, comfort, and that they would come to know Him in a deeper, more profound, way than they have ever experienced. These are my prayers for your tonight. May you be blessed beyond what you could ask or imagine by the One who will keep His promises forever; He never stops working.
Let my prayer be counted as incense before you,
and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice!
~ Psalm 141:2 ~
Stirred to eternity,
Ruth