Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: DRIZZLE (03/05/20)
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TITLE: The Pour House | Previous Challenge Entry
By Debra Brand
03/12/20 -
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A little church, built in the early ’20s, with faded tan mismatched vinyl siding covering any semblance of historical glory. It survived many hurricanes and floods, losses and gains of families and friends, yet still lives. Pastors had come and gone, too.
Cars of all types filled the unpaved city parking lot. The neighbors closed their curtains, blind to the aura of the spiritual presence outside their blighted houses. Brave seekers hurried along the sidewalk, some passed, and some entered. A slight mist enshrouded the scenery as if in expectation.
It was impossible to tell if the windows were glowing from the incandescent bulbs or the glory of God. Something compelled me to enter through the arched side door with squeaking hinges.
The threadbare carpeting and peeling white walls called for attention. Many of the padded chairs were filled with those who cried out in desperation for a move of God.
Old chandeliers hung from the ceiling with dusty filament cobwebs. A black pipe near the ceiling, decorated with faded pink fake roses, ran the width of the room. Damage from hurricanes had compromised the support system. But, no one seemed to mind. They were here for something … Someone else.
Near the altar, plastic sheeting had been laid out to protect the well-worn grey carpeting. The praise team’s rendition of ‘Holy Spirit Rain Down’ filled the air with expectation and worship. Swaying bodies, raised hands, and ‘Show us Your Glory’ rang out the worship.
Then, the music stopped but the voices continued to be lifted up to the One. The salty pastor stepped out from behind the old wooden pulpit and descended the steps to the altar floor.
“To all who want to be anointed and receive the Holy Spirit, please come forward.”
I watched as men, women, children streamed to the altar area where, one by one, each received an anointing. The pastor was pouring something on their heads. Cries of expectation for healing and deliverance captivated me.
Unprepared, I stepped forward to receive the anointing … or the oil. I leaned my head back as the pastor held the cup over me. He started to pour. I felt warm liquid trickling into my hair and over my forehead, face, neck, and shoulders. The sensation left me vulnerable and beyond my control. His Spirit outpouring was palpable, gentle, alluring, and soft. My scalp felt as if every pore had become completely alive.
This experience has not diminished years later. I can still feel the oil drips filtering through my thoughts and prayers as I return to The Pour House altar, time after time.
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