Dear Mikeness. I love that you wrote on this subject! I used to be a regular here at SI, but now I just drop in from time to time and scan around . Your thread here caught my eye and then when I went back and read your original post, I was excited because this is exactly how my journey began. I can tell that you have been seeking God as much as you are able. And I'm excited to see that you are aware of your hardness of heart and that it matters to you.
First, let me say, that the day that I became aware that my heart was hard and there was nothing I could do about it, I was very sad. I didn't cry, but I was sad. I knew something was terribly wrong and I also knew that I could not fix it. I can distinctly remember how it happened. I had listened to a sermon that my pastor preached at church which had me on the edge of my seat. I was absolutely caught up as he described being a sergeant in the Army at an army base in the south. That was just prior to the Desert Storm. He told of how much his men under him liked him because he taught them how to pass tests well. His platoon was revered for making good grades, because he taught them how to cheat, basically. Then, he said, one day he was on a weekend leave and he was sitting in front of the television at his home when a news bulletin came on and said that all men assigned to this army base were to return immediately. He then watched a report of the beginning of the gulf war. He was sick. He said when he returned to his base, it was on lockdown. The gates were guarded and he had to show his id to get in. He said, in his heart, he knew, that America was going to war and that he had to lead a platoon of men to the battlefront and they were not prepared. He said, when he got back to the base, people were scrambling to pack up weapons on trucks for transport, but he started cramming manuals in boxes. He said his men were mad at him for making them lug these books to the desert.
Then, they were sent to the frontlines of the battle on the border of Iraq and Kuwait. He said they dug foxholes and were on the highest alert for months. He said the highest alert was where like 3/4ths of the men had to be awake and on ready 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. That meant that each man was only allowed to sleep 4 hours a day and when he did sleep, he was required to keep his clothes and boots on and his rifle by his side. Daryl said, every minute he had, he was pouring over manuals trying to figure out how to fire some of the weapons they had brought. He said, at one point, they took a big gun thing out of the box and it was wrapped in plastic and they couldn't even get the plastic off the thing. He said they looked like the three stooges just trying to unwrap it. He said, one day he was so tired and he decided that he had to get some rest, so he stripped down to his underwear and snuggled down into his sleeping bag, but it wasn't long until he was awakened from his deep sleep by a loud explosion which shook the ground. He said that, as he awoke, he could hear bullets whizzing by and it was mass chaos. He said he didn't have time to get dressed, he just ran to his foxhole in his underwear. He said it was dark and everyone was really scared and didn't know what had happened. They waited for several hours and, as daylight broke, a Hummer with an eagle on the side of it pulled up and a colonel got out. He said, "Who's in charge here?" My pastor said he had to get out of his foxhole and walk over in front of this man in his underwear. Turns out, the explosion was a mistaken friendly fire and this colonel just came out to tell them everything was ok. When he saw Daryl in his underwear, he just shook his head.
The message Daryl was preaching was on how unprepared we are as a church. I knew, as I listened to that story, that I was in my underwear in the middle of a real war, but I didn't feel much emotion. I knew that I should be on my face at the altar, weeping, but I wasn't. I wanted to weep and feel the burden, but I couldn't. I was saddened by my lack of passion. I was saddened by how many others around me seemed unmoved by this scenario.
I remember, on the way home from church, for the first time in my life, I realized, that, if God didn't do a miracle in my heart, I was doomed. I prayed a simple prayer. I pictured myself asleep, you know, like those times when your half asleep and you know that you need to get up, but you can't seem to drag yourself up out of it? I cried out to God and I said, "God, sound the alarm! Stick me with a cattle prod! Help me, Lord! Please, wake me up!" I felt desperate for something that I knew that I could not do, and, from that moment on, I just began to beg God to do it. That changed my life.
It didn't take long before I was getting up all hours of the day and night to pray. My prayers became this continual cry for God to do something in my heart that was real. And he has been doing it ever since. That was about 4 years ago. God took that woman who thought she was so spiritual and knew so much and took her apart until, all she was, was a garage full of pieces scattered all over the floor. Then, he dragged in this big trashcan and began to pick up my dismantled theology, piece by piece, and he would hold it up in front of me and he would show me what needed to go into that trashcan. We carried out huge garbage bags full of stuff. I have cried rivers and rivers. I have felt like I can't live through this. This past year has been the darkest, spiritual time I have ever lived through. There is a renewed sense of urgency in me at all times. And I've been humbled to the point, that I hardly have anything to say. You can ask anyone on SI, I don't talk anymore. This is the most I've had to say in a year!
So, thanks for listening to my ramblings.
"Call unto me, and I will answer thee."
Dian.
