I hated social settings. They filled me with fear and nervousness. I was in 6th grade and had just started wearing pantyhose. Since we were always on a tight budget, my mother would generally buy the cheapest items, regardless of quality. I was at a wedding reception in a dress, pantyhose and heels.
The Ramada Inn was lavish in its décor of reds and gold with tantalizing foods spread in abundance. Two glorious silver fountains beckoned thirsty guests to come and be refreshed. My mother discreetly informed me that one fountain offered champagne and the other was merely punch. She cautioned me because one time in their early years of ministry, my father ignorantly proceeded to drink champagne, much to my mother’s chagrin. Since she often reminded me that I had hardly any common sense, she was making sure that I wouldn’t repeat my father’s faux pau.
Obediently, I steered clear of the champagne fountain. I was sipping my drink while holding a plate with cake, nuts and mints on it, wondering where I could sit and eat without having both hands occupied. My eyes were scanning the walls for an empty chair when a waitress came to me.
She was short in her black dress, fishnet stockings, crisp white apron and cap. “Honey, you dropped your bottom.” She promptly skirted away to continue her tasks for the evening. I was thoroughly mystified and mortified. My mind reeled. “Are my pantyhose hanging bunched around my ankles, again?!!! Or has the entire waistband dropped and the pantyhose are lying on the floor around my shoes???? Is my slip hanging? What in the world did she mean, “I dropped my bottom !?!?”
I found my mother and through gritted teeth told her what the strange lady said. “Mo-ther, what did she mean? I dropped my bottom?” My mother looked at me with twinkling merriment as recognition dawned on her.
“Oh, honey, she means the bottom of your cup.” She walked to the non-forbidden fountain to demonstrate that these cups came in two parts to be assembled. By the time she finished explaining verbally and visually, all I longed for was that the reception would finish and I could go home, far away from social gatherings, baggy pantyhose and dropped bottoms!
This story is painful. I didn’t realize just what this will take for me to share it all, Jesus. Please hold me and help me.
(“Ruth, these precious women need to hear that they are not alone. I know how painful your life was…..I wept with you and over you….but that is the very reason I am sending you to speak. Don’t be afraid, My precious Daughter, I will not leave you….My Holy Spirit is helping you, even now, as you type these words.”)
God, this is excruciating.
“Yes, but you didn’t stay there. I redeemed you. I have healed you. I set you free.” The enemy wants you silenced but it is TIME for you to speak. It is MY time for you to speak.”
Imagine going to a very nice restaurant. Linen tablecloths, fine silver, tapered candles and decoratively folded napkins. A long table is adorned with chafing dishes and a variety of delicious looking foods. Tempting the palette are a host of mouth-watering entrees, desserts and breads. You are anticipating the satisfaction of savoring each morsel and enjoying a spectacular feast.
The maitre’de comes over and sets down a white china bowl. It is filled with salt. Puzzled, you wonder what this means. He explains to you that all the foods have been prepared without any salt. You are to eat the salt for your first course and the remainder of your meal will come later.
All of a sudden those delicious foods do not look quite as appetizing. You realize that they are not all that they appear to be. Eating salt by itself certainly doesn’t appeal to you. The fabulous restaurant fades in your estimation.
So often we look at people and on the surface they appear quite attractive. We assume that they are salty, filled with the Spirit of God and walking as His disciples. They say the right words and seemingly do the right things. Indeed, we think they look like the real thing. However, when we take time to pursue them for more than trivial conversation, we discover that they have no salt in them.
Often, when we think of “witnessing,” many of us shy away because we think that we have to offer the whole bowl of salt to get people interested in the Lord. We forget that salt is to be used sparingly and not dumped all at once. We must allow people into our lives so that they can taste the salt. Once they see that we are different, then they will become thirsty for Who we have, the Living Water, Jesus Christ.
So, have you sprinkled someone today?
Why do I want to post? I want Connection. I want to write what others might feel in hopes that we can encourage one another, not feel so alone, not succumb to the lies that bombard us daily….and that some of us need to have those lies exposed so that we can see clearly to the truth. Perhaps there are people out there who wish that “someone would say what I feel” someone brave, foolish or daring enough to risk being judged, misunderstood and rejected and at the same time risk being accepted, loved, received and appreciated for that very same boldness, honesty, vulnerability and gut-level openness….
Who knows? There are Vast and numerous blogs out there….writers pouring out their thoughts/opinions, etc. Why do writers write? It is not merely for ourselves. We “get” what we write. No, there must be something greater that propels us to “bleed” our emotions onto the page and the screen for the benefit of others?
I thought that writing was a Solo act but obviously I was wrong. I may write alone but Writing is a communal act. There is no quality in writing if there is no audience to read. The audience may be largely unknown, anonymous, but without an audience, the writing in itself is a superficial task that lends catharsis or joy to the writer but leaves the world untouched.
Thus, the risk of the writer to dare to share her thoughts and ideas with an audience she may never see.