Blah, Blah, Blah

I'm a talker. It's true. I like to talk. Those who know me well would abundantly agree, I'm sure. I'm definitely a talker. My mom always told me that I have the gift of gab. My kids are always embarrassed when I talk to complete strangers. I love telling stories and I especially love drawing other people outside of themselves ... finding out about their lives and getting them to tell me their stories.

I come by the whole chatterbox thing honestly ... it runs in my family in a big way, and perhaps part of my penchant for yapping is a Southern thing. I've definitely noticed that Southerners tend to talk more, visit more, chat more than a lot of folks in the Midwest. For example, funerals in the South are never a one-evening, one-hour visitation and then a half-hour funeral. No, no, no, my friends. Funerals back home involve at least two or three visitation times spread over a couple of days that often stretch into the late hours of the night, and a funeral service that can easily last an hour or longer, followed by a graveside service and then, of course, a meal that involves lots and lots of food and several more hours of conversation. Sorry ... I digress from my original premise that in many ways, I was destined to be a talker.

A few weeks ago, I was invited to speak to a group of women at a church in a small town just north of Kansas City. As I stood before the group of almost 250 women and prepared to begin the session with my customary funny story before launching into the real meat of our time together, I was suddenly overcome with emotion and tears filled my eyes as I struggled to hold myself together. Looking around the room, I was keenly aware that it was a definite "God moment" ... that my emotion was coming from Him and His leading and guiding and nudging and prompting. From somewhere deep within me, I knew that rather than my lighthearted story, God was calling me to pray ... to get on my knees and humble myself before Him and before the room filled with women ... and pray.

What followed was a sweet, sweet time of prayer among the women there that afternoon ... and very little speaking from me. For all the words I had planned to share, God had an entirely different plan in place, a plan that was far deeper and way more powerful than anything that I could have spoken about. I don't know about the other women, but I do know that God touched me that day, that He forced me to be quiet so that He could teach me once again that it is all about Him and absolutely nothing about me.

Stop me, Lord ... stop me in my tracks ... close my mouth ... open my ears ... break my will ... scrub my heart ... make me fully Yours ... all of me, Lord, all of me, fully Yours.