Why I Write

It was sunday

A church day that was so much more different than any other

After the fasting and praying

I stood with the mic in hand, speechless in the Spirit

The guys knew, they could feel His presence 

They could feel it in each other

That feeling when you come before the King

The heat you feel rising in your face

That pressure you feel in your gut when you are recieving his annointing

I knew that if I didn't do something at that moment I might as well be mute for the rest of my life

So I skipped the introductions and simply worshiped

No words

No song

No person 

Could desricbe the feeling of praising God in the Spirit

You can feel the difference

It's not a performance

It's a moment of utter connection between you and Him

The man who died

The father who loved

Enough to send a Son

To be impaled on a stick

Because he knew that we weren't able to take it

I write to tell

To convey 

To try to my utter best

To show you how it feels

It's a gift I have been given

I say this all in humilty

And not with an ounce of pride

Whether or not you believe

That's something between you and the King

It has nothing to do with me

But after moments like that Sunday

I find it hard to believe

That people don't belive in the reason why i write