21 Days to Clarity, Day 21: Intercede

For Day 20, Click Here

Yesterday started like most Sunday mornings: After pressing the snooze alarm five times, I successfully reasoned with my sleepy self that I did not have time to work out before church.

I stumbled into the bathroom and onto the scale, only to be assaulted with all “one hundred and something” reasons I set my alarm early to exercise in the first place.

For the next hour, I fumbled with my hair, my make-up and my clothes while alternating with repeated reminders to the kids to turn off the TV, eat breakfast and get ready for church.

In a rush of chaos, I ushered my resistant children into the frigid car, as I mentally rehearsed all the things I hate about living in Kentucky in February.

While Jon dropped off one child in the nursery, I took the others to find a seat, where (surprise) the service had already begun. Late again. After getting the children settled, I struggled mentally to recompose myself and focus on God. But instead, I allowed my mind to drift back to all the frustrations of that typical Sunday morning.

I opened my mouth and belted out a beautiful chorus:

“I’m coming back to the heart of worship,
and it’s all about ME.
All about ME.
Sandy.”


Not really.

But that’s where my heart was. Me, me, me. My tired body. My excess weight. My bad hair. My dislike for cold weather. My frustrations.


And then I spotted Carl and Marcie walking hand-in-hand to the front of the sanctuary. In a beautifully spontaneous act of humility and worship, they left their seats and knelt down together at the altar. And in a microsecond, I was jolted out of my prison of self-centeredness.

See, Carl has been battling brain cancer for two years. Marcie, his loving wife, stands tirelessly by his side through surgeries, chemo, good reports and bad. All the while, together they strive to maintain some sense of normalcy for their three children (one of whom is a classmate and friend to my daughter, Rebekah).

And there, she stood (or knelt) by him again—this time at the front of our church—in a vulnerable act of submission to The Healer.

I felt a sudden urge to join them—to stand behind them, to worship alongside them. To make a statement to them and to everyone present that Carl and Marcie are not alone. So, Jon and I left our seats, made our way down the aisle, and stood behind our dear friends to pray. Within seconds, I sensed others gathering around us, until our voices blended together with dozens of people, becoming strong, powerful and unified.

Hands raised. Tears flowing. We stepped outside ourselves and temporarily carried the heavy burden of this precious couple. For the next thirty minutes, with the music as our backdrop, we functioned, not as self-centered individuals, but as the family of God. The Body of Christ.

As I walked back to my seat, I had a new perspective. Nothing earth-shattering. My situation hadn't changed at all. It was still cold and cloudy outside, I still weighed the same, and I still had bad hair.

Yet, I heard God’s voice a little more clearly. A voice that summoned me for a short time to approach the throne of God and plead for healing. A voice that whispered,

“Marcie is weary. Pray for her strength.”

A voice that said,

“Watch how they worship me with pure hearts…isn’t it beautiful?”

A voice that resonated through our congregation,

“I hear you. I see you. I Am Here. ”

I don’t understand the whole paradox of losing your life to find it. But I thank God for allowing me to experience it on a very small level yesterday. When I lost my life in intercession for my friends, I found the clarity I had been seeking all morning.