I've been thinking this morning about the movement of the Holy Spirit.  Most especially that part of it that is so attractive to us that we desire to chase it - Him - more and more.  But I find that as humans, we (and by "we", I definitely mean "I") have a tendency to need something a bit more concrete to chase.  Chasing a spirit is, well, hard work, quite frankly.  And you know, I'm never quite sure if I've got Him.  So to help me in chasing the Holy Spirit's movements, I think I (and by "I" I do mean "we") have a tendency to chase the medium through which we've last seen Him, and that is quite often a person - someone God has graciously chosen to use through whom He can channel His power and His presence.  This is the way that God designed our relationships with Him, and with each other.  We are to show God to each other, and to manifest His presence and His power through the use of our gifts and our obedience to Him.  That part of it is not wrong; it is beautiful and holy and awe-inspiring. 

Where we can stumble into a bit of a snag is in the chasing of that person or that thing through which we've experienced God.

For some reason this morning as I was preparing to do a load of laundry, I got thinking about Ave Maria.  Now, I'm a singer, so to me Ave Maria is an incredibly beautiful piece of music (well, two actually, Bach wrote the music (in one of the versions) and Gounod wrote the melody) and well deserving of its place of honour in music history.  But something this morning made me think of the words of Ave Maria - "Hail, Mary,
full of grace, the Lord is with thee.  Blessed art thou among women...," etc.  I'm sure that the subject of the Virgin Mary is a potential hotbed for comments on this post (which I would prefer did not appear), and please know that's not the purpose of what I'm writing here.  Because after Ave Maria, I went on to think about Mike Pilavachi.

Now, any of you who are familiar with Mike Pilavachi know that it's not a....natural thought process to go from the Virgin Mary to Mike Pilavachi.  But as I thought of our human inclination to grasp onto what God has worked through as opposed, perhaps, to God Himself, it made me think of Mike talking about himself as a minor Christian celebrity. 

Truthfully, Mike is probably a minor Christian celebrity, being the lead pastor of Soul Survivor here in the UK (and worldwide), but I should probably temper any irritation or judgment you might feel at him calling himself that by ensuring that you are aware that he was speaking, at the time, out his car window to a bison on the side of the road.  True story.  Apparently the bison wasn't paying enough attention to him and he wanted it to know that it was ignoring someone important.  (As a side note, I'm not sure it cared.  Probably it wasn't saved.  There's no other way to properly explain its lack of interest, really.)

Moving on from bison, however, the irony of Mike's words came back to me this morning.  Should there be any celebrity in the Kingdom of God besides Himself (not Mike, God)?  I don't think we can blame the people in 'public' ministry here entirely (if at all), but rather it is a good opportunity for us to each look at ourselves and ask the internal question, "What am I chasing?"  Am I chasing the Holy Spirit and the movements of God, wherever they might lead me?  Am I chasing a person and their ministry or the way they make me feel?  Sometimes those two things can look similar, especially if God is powerfully moving through a particular servant of His at a particular time.  But for their sake, and for our own, and most especially for the sake of the glory of God which is His alone, I think we have a responsibility to continually check our spirits and our motives as we talk about and chase any particular thing. 

Probably most of us do this anyway, and yet I felt it is something important to say, even as a reminder to be protective.  Protective of the humility of those God has chosen to lead us so that they are not confused or tempted to be prideful.  Protective of the holiness ('set-apart-ness') of God and His glory so that none share in His fame.  Protective of our own individual intimate relationships with God so that we do not allow absolutely anything to come between us and our Lover that will spark His jealousy or our distance.

Praise God for His servants - without them we would be wandering as lost sheep and far too vulnerable to the wolves in the world.  But God's glory is not is the shepherds themselves; it is only shown through the shepherds. So as we thank them and thank the Lord for giving them to us, let us not forget that we are chasing Him alone.  Only in that does the hunger inside of us truly get satisfied.

I was reading Isaiah 53 yesterday afternoon, and pondering specifically on verses 2-4, where in speaking about the coming Messiah (Jesus), it says:

So much has happened in the last four days!  It's hard to believe that I'm actually here in Banbury, UK.  But here I am.  What's also difficult to believe is that I made it in one piece, considering all the luggage....challenges....that I encountered on the journey to get here.

Firstly, at the Vancouver Airport, I had to lighten my two big suitcases, as they were over even the extra weight allowance.  And who doesn't like to open their luggage in the middle of a crowded airport?  Lots of joy.  However, it was managed.  Unfortunately one of the things I took out to have my folks send me later was....soap.  Oh well.  There is soap in England.

Next part of the journey was getting on the plane.  No wait, the next part of the journey was getting to the gate at YVR.  Perhaps I didn't mention that I was laiden with LARGE purse, laptop bag fully crammed with everything it would fit (I think my housecoat was in there), heavy camera bag (which also contained my ball caps - seriously, I used every nook and cranny when packing), and my violin, which also had multiple pounds of sheet music in the top of it.  Are you getting a mental picture yet?  If it makes you laugh, it's probably pretty close.

I was praising God possibly audibly when I finally turned the corner towards the D gates and realized that I was departing from the first one.  AND that there was a Tim Horton's just across from it.  Hallelujah.

Then, the plane.  On I hiked all my gear again, feeling more like a pack mule than I think I have ever felt before, and went down the walkway to the plane.

Then, uh-oh.  I went to walk down the aisle of the plane to get to row 25 and my seat when all of a sudden I jerked back.  I'm stuck.  I'm too wide!!  Argh!!  Not willing to give up (I'd already invested so much energy in getting to my seat I wasn't to be daunted), I forced my stuff through the seats, where it hit me in the back, propelling me to the next row of seats, where I got stuck, and where I forced my stuff through, and on and on to row 25.  I did at least offer a great deal of entertainment to my fellow passengers.  Small comfort. 

Now for the plane ride.  Truly, all was well.  I had a friendly gentleman sitting beside me on his way to his niece's wedding in London.  Great.  No drama there.

But then I arrived in London.  Back goes the gear onto my shoulders.  Back through the rows - pull, bump, pull, bump.  Finally the lady behind me, obviously taking pity on a truly demented individual, turned my laptop bag so that I at least wasn't getting stuck at each row.  Heaven!  I asked her what she was doing for the rest of the day, but she didn't seem to think that following me around with all my stuff sounded like too much fun.  Oh well.  Out of the plane and towards Customs.

My good fortune to have the first departure gate at YVR didn't hold for Gatwick.  I think I trudged about 17 miles with all my gear.  OK, perhaps not that far, but it certainly felt like it.  By then I was thoroughly sweating - for the third time that day, mind you (shoot - I have no soap) - and had to stop frequently to shift which bags are on which shoulders and to rest.  I got lapped by everyone in the plane, included those in row 45, and started to wonder if I was seeing people go by for a second time.  That might have been just delirium. I did decide that I would hijack a wheelchair, a service trolley or even a golf cart if it meant I had help to get to....wherever on earth Customs ended up being.  Bad news on that front: they were all chained up.  (Someone must have warned them that this crazy chick with way too much carry-on was coming - slowly - down the hall.)

At about the fourth stop to rest, I truly began to wonder if I was going to make it.  I very nearly started to cry from physical pain and emotional exhaustion.  I felt like I just couldn't do it, and wondered if Xander and Vanessa would simply assume that I didn't get on the plane in Vancouver or whether they would think to send someone in to find the weeping pile that used to be Karyn Baker.  In that moment, I asked God to help me.  I didn't even know what that would look like, but I needed help.

Immediately two women (who were behind my pull-bump-pull-bump maneuver getting on the plane), came up behind me, and jokingly said, "Hey, there she is again!"  And then I guess they realized that I was stopped for a reason and asked if they could help.  Those two beautiful women helped carry my stuff to Customs and all the way through the 2-hour lineup.  They were such an answer to my desperate prayer.  Then we went through Customs separately, of course (total breeze with my visa), but they found me on the other side and again grabbed some stuff.  Then when we got to baggage claim they routed around in their purses and found a pound coin to get me a luggage cart and make sure I was going to be OK, since I had forgotten to put my UK coins in my purse.  That's when they left me.  I have never been so glad to hug total strangers in my life (I don't think - it's probably not the first time I've done that).

So, I found my luggage (which was all sitting off to the side, our plane having arrived 2.5 hours before that), and shockingly, I managed to get two large suitcases, a carry-on suitcase, my violin, my laptop, and my camera bag onto the one cart.  Oh, did I mentioned that one of my [large] suitcase zippers was partially open?  So, for the second time in one trip I shoved clothes further back into a suitcase and closed it up.  Thankfully, it doesn't look like anything actually fell out or that the zipper was permanently broken.  But still, Airports - 2, Bakes - 0.  So then I attempted to wheel a very full luggage cart with one hand, have my large purse on one shoulder and carry my guitar in the other.  Actually, I was doing OK, but stopped to try and get the guitar hoisted on the top of the whole thing as well - since I nearly killed a person or two in my wanderings - and some random lady came up to me and asked if I needed help.  Without waiting for a response, she wisely grabbed the luggage cart from me and wheeled it straight to where Xander and Vanessa were waiting for me.  Again, I happily hugged a total stranger.

I actually think all three women might have been angels, especially that last one.  At the very least, they were huge answers to prayers cried out in desperation.  I found out later that my mom, being worried about my having so much stuff to manage, was praying that people would help me.  Thanks, Mom.  Prayers answered. 

Oh yes, I probably should have mentioned that at lunch with Xander and Vanessa (at the airport), I mistakenly thought I heard the waitress say that I should use more soap.  Then Xander thought I might want to wash my face and Vanessa later suggested I have a bath.

Needless to say, I have since bought some soap.