I gave up my filter this week.
Sometimes prayer works that way. Instead of praying what I really feel, I give sweet, filtered, mild words to the Lord. I don’t get mouthy. I get ashamed.
It’s how I am. I am an even-keel person. I like evenness. I like knowing that everyone likes each other, and I like to keep it that way. It almost always takes me a moment to give up my filter.
It started Easter morning.
Easter is a holy day. Celebrating the resurrection of a King is not a mild thing. But I woke up that morning not feeling even a little bit tender about it. As if the holiness of what Christ had done had worn off.
I walked into church hardly recognizing any faces in the crowd because there were so many people. I sat in almost the same seat. It was any other Sunday.
And it could’ve been. But I didn’t want that. I wanted God to get the glory. I wanted the praise from lips actually be the praise, not just words that I say to blend in. I don’t want to say things mildly to a God who shattered His Son’s life for the blood in my own veins. No filter.
I quieted my restlessness. And I closed my eyes, and I prayed, “Father show up. I’m welcoming you in.” And you know what He said? He said, “I’m already here. I’m invading every space around you. And I’ve never left.”
He’s not a mild God.
This continued into Monday. My boys were bringing out my anger, and I was trying to fold laundry, and I had already reached my end by 9:30 AM. I sat in my kids’ bedroom, and I got so mouthy with God that I probably shouldn’t repeat what I said. Except one thing: I had the nerve to tell God I thought I was failing my kids. And you know what He said? He said, “No. You don’t fail, because I don’t fail.”
Tuesday morning I read in 1 Kings about a guy who was king over Israel for a mere seven days. He died by setting the royal palace aflame around him, killed by his own sin and fire. It was a story that seemed to teach me nothing because it’s hardly relatable, and you know what God said? He said, “I love you so much. Hallelujah you aren’t destined for a death of flames and sin.”
God is not surprised by me. More often than not, I’m surprised by Him.
I’m working on my conversation with the Father this week. An ongoing, continuous conversing that isn’t filtered. There isn’t anything I can hide from Him, anyways.