Recently a friend of mine, who writes beautifully, shared this piece with me and I asked her if I could share it with you. Caroline was gracious enough to say yes, and I am thrilled because I very much enjoy highlighting quality writing from the Christian community.
Caroline is smart and charming and someone I can always count on when I need a good laugh. This is her story.
When the Wind Blows Where it Wills
These are headlines from our day:
A dictator murders protestors in the street. Corporate CEO’s take substantial bonuses crippling the company’s financial stability. A young pastor is suffocated by a thug in his church. A stepfather molests his stepdaughter then goes to church for a deacon’s meeting. A wife lies about her expenditures; a child sneaks out of his home hoping to be cool, only to face the temptation of drugs which starts him on a treacherous path. This is humanity.
These are headlines from my past:
I sat in a tree, just four years old, a soft breeze lightly brushing face. I sensed a presence that was bigger than me—somehow weighty, invisible but solid. It said, “Child, you special in my eyes.” Even at four, I knew I had met someone special. Ruach (רוּחַ), pneuma (πνεῦμα), Spirit.
At 10, I sat in a movie theatre, transfixed. The character on the screen was kneeling, weeping, and seeking the same presence I had met at four. The movie was The Cross and the Switchblade. A light burst on the screen and seemed to shoot out, buffeting me, penetrating then burning my soul. It felt like fire. I inhaled with longing. I wanted my life to join the living vibrancy that came from this essence. It was ruach (רוּחַ), pneuma (πνεῦμα), Spirit of regeneration. My Savoir.
Next at 18, I sat in a car, sweet smoke from my friend’s joints swirling around my head. They demeaned the name of Christ. I laughed because I was cool. Instantly, it was as if my chest ripped in two, and deep sadness slashed my soul. It stopped my breath. I lowered my eyes for I had encountered again the breath that was ruach (רוּחַ), pneuma (πνεῦμα), the Spirit of conviction.
Then at 28, I sat listening to my breath. I stared down into nothingness. You see, life was crap, a disappointment. Because of this, I hated and tried not to care about God. But I did care. I thought that my shame separated me from the life of my Savoir. I couldn’t pray. Whoever has a right to pray?
Nevertheless, I opened Holy Scripture and a gust of wind burst from the pages. The page held a genealogy from Abraham to Jesus. “So what,” I thought, “what good was this?”
But then the wind, warm now, struck my face and he made me look up. There was my Savior, valiant, glorious, like a stabbing light, every bit the conqueror.
He laughed the clear, bold, confident laugh of the Savior. Joining his was the deep, rich boom of the Ancient of Days, and around it all was a swirling sort of mirth sounding like a thousand leaves being scattered hither and non. They were laughing at me. Christ said, “Child, don’t be foolish. Look at your page. There is Abraham, who allowed his wife to be defiled by another. There is Jacob the deceiver, Judah who turned aside toward Canaan, and Tamar, who slept with her own father-in-law, David the adulterer and Solomon, the man of 700 wives, not to mention concubines. This is my lineage, the people from whom I come.
If my death and resurrection conquered all of their sins, why won’t it cover yours? Are you so arrogant to think you are beyond my power?
So I breathed joy. For I was the child of God. I was the child of av or abba, (אב) -Father, ben-av (אב בֵּן) -Son of the Father, and ruach (רוּחַ)-Spirit.
This is Our God.
רוּחַ – Hebrew for spirit, wind, breath
πνεῦμα – Greek for Spirit
אב- Hebrew for Father, can be av or abba, the term used in the NT to refer to the Father
אב בֵּן – Hebrew for Son of the Father
Jn 16:14; Jn 16:8; 1 Co 6:11; Ro 8:26; Ro 15:13; Jn 14:17; Jn 3:5,6; 1 Jn 5:4.
Caroline Buie is a mom and wife, who just happened to study at Dallas Theological Seminary. Her desire is to see Christians understand true Christian theology and the greatness of God through creative means. Occasionally, she is seized by an impulse to write.