That you, again, God?

Years ago I had reason to visit a psychologist for a few sessions of talking. Granted, I already was quite the talker, but he listened to me much more than did others. Or at least he was paid to do so and was good at it.

One day, on my way across the Crescent City Connection, a behemoth of a bridge across the Mississippi River, I noticed I was having thoughts like I had never had before, thoughts outside of my thought pattern, thoughts that were, well, other.

When I reached the psychologists' office, I asked him what might have been a strange question had I not known he was a believer in the other, that what He called God. I was still figuring that out, this God thing.

I asked him, "Are those thoughts God? Is that how he communicates, possibly?" I truly didn't expect an answer, but I was a very confused somewhat middle-aged man who was trying to find a lot of things, himself included. God wasn't one of those things I was looking for. Hence, the lack of finding him.

The psychologist, whose name I can't remember, of course, me being much, much older and time having passed like a river flowing from a throne, said, "Yes. It could be."

I didn't hear could. I heard "yes."

I have had multiple occasions since when I believe that to be true, again ... and again, and again.

I noticed yesterday, as free-flowing ideas kept pouring in, as they have for most of the three weeks I've been working at this new church start, that these other thoughts are happening again. Now, recognize that I only noticed it yesterday and I've been doing this for three weeks. That's the other. That's, to me, how you separate inspiration from idea, God's nudge from my pride. Certainly I've had ideas in the three months since the appointment. But lately, as I've worked on the idea of a silent auction and a dinner to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the building of the sanctuary, well, the other is taking control when I allow it.

Now, I might just be as crazy as a loon (which by the way I use as an expression all the time and I have no idea what that might mean), but I believe God still talks to us. Oh, I haven't heard any talking out loud, unfortunately (or if it was late at night perhaps fortunately), but I have heard or felt or sensed nudges, what I call the other, with thoughts that I had no business having. Not voices in my head, oh ye of little, uh, humor. No. Ideas. Inspiration. Thoughts.

Ezekiel expressed his this way: "He said to me, "Son of man, stand up on your feet and I will speak to you. As he spoke, the Spirit came into me and raised me to my feet, and I heard hymn speaking."

Here's what I take from that, as it applies to this morning's reading. "The Spirit came into me" is the key phrase. These thoughts, inspiration, words, you name it, come from the Spirit of God. And because of what happened at Pentecost, well, the Spirit always lives in us who have accepted our Lord and Savior, Jesus.

Thus, the thoughts of the Spirit are always there.

So, what keeps us from being led by them?

Us. Nothing but us. When our thoughts get in the way of His thoughts. When our hands on the steering wheel seek to push his hands off it. That's what drowns out the proper, most well-meaning, most wonderfully perfect ideas we can imagine.

Oh, I can't way to hear what today will bring.