Moments

Prompts to fish with. Not all will land. Write what surfaces, even one line.

Was there a moment when…

…the presence of God felt so thick you couldn't keep your eyes open, or couldn't keep them closed?

…you came down from a mountaintop and the ordinary felt unbearable?

…you walked through a long stretch where God felt silent — and you didn't know if it was you, or him, or just the season?

…you sat at a table and something holy happened that no one else at the table seemed to notice?

…a meal with someone changed the way you saw them?

…someone forgave you faster than you could forgive yourself?

…you forgave someone faster than they forgave themselves?

…you confessed something out loud for the first time and the room didn't collapse?

…you tasted something and remembered a person who was gone?

…the veil felt thin — and you couldn't explain why, only that something was different in the air?

…you realized, mid-worship, that you'd been carrying something you didn't know you were carrying?

…a song cracked you open the way Lost? did?

…you came to the table knowing you shouldn't — and came anyway — and it was the coming that undid you?

…someone welcomed you in a way you hadn't earned and couldn't deserve?

…you welcomed someone and realized only afterward that you'd been changed by it, not them?

…holiness frightened you, and love did not arrive as a softening — but as the same thing, from a different angle?

…you were the older brother, refusing to go in to the party?

…you were the younger brother, rehearsing your speech on the road home?

…you were the father running?

…you saw someone else receive the bread and something broke open in you that you didn't have words for?

…you felt misunderstood by someone you loved, and had to keep loving them anyway?

…you assumed the worst about someone, and were wrong, and had to sit with what that said about you?

…you wanted to be set apart, and failed, and had to decide what to do with the failure?

…your body knew something before your mind did — grief, or peace, or the presence of God, or the weight of sin?

…you ate with someone you were supposed to despise?

…you were eaten with, when you were the one others were supposed to despise?

…a small moment — a glance, a hand, a word — carried more weight than a whole sermon ever had?

…heaven felt close and earth felt thin, and you didn't want to go back to your car?

…you were sure God had left, and then found out he'd been in the room the whole time?

…you tried to build your own testimony — and God dismantled it and gave you a different one?

Was there a season when…

…you learned the difference between God's presence and a feeling of God's presence?

…a long silence taught you something that a mountaintop couldn't?

…you had to keep showing up to the table without the feelings that used to come with it?

…you were carrying a sin you couldn't seem to put down, and communion either intensified it or finally released it — and either would be worth naming?

…the people who changed you most weren't the ones who preached at you, but the ones who ate with you?