Pajama Party Sing-a-Long for Addicts

It was pajama morning when I arrived at the recovery center, and the girls could remain in their night clothes until mid-morning since it was Christmas morning.
At the front counter, I learned they could sleep in and didn’t have to get up early, which for a second or two sent my brain to wondering if I would have church with my girls.
Then one of the guard/monitors said, “Oh, but Ms. Pam, you have a room full of girls waiting for you. They’re dressed and ready for church.”
In the room, we dealt with the sound not working for our music, since it’s piped in from my laptop through a speaker. It usually works, but on this day we never had any success. But we sang anyway. (And yes, the sound worked later at home.)
In the room, the heat blew through the vent, and the air conditioning blew through another vent. With two different controls in place our temperature froze us and we burned up, too. So we fanned ourselves and shook, but praised God.
In the room, those who came were excited to worship Jesus. We may have been packed inside of the building, but we were of one mind, one accord.
In the room, testimonies rose up from hearts living for Christ, and my girls were seeking His will, desiring to submit to Him, and they were challenged to move with obedience into the next season of their lives. Smiles abounded. Many cried, But joy flooded from our morning like a rising star in the sky.
In the room, more tears fell when one of the girls read a poem she’d written of her past Christmases where she ran to her friends for drugs, where she hid from the law, where she ducked from God into darkness — and yet, He called her out of this darkness to a new life.
In the room, the girl on crutches praised God for her good leg, for her brother’s extended life with his cancer, for the breath she now appreciated.
In the room, we sang Christmas carols acapella (led by yours truly who sings off-key) and we spent time weeping at the birth of our Savior as I read them the account in Matthew, not Luke. I wanted them to sense the reality of King Herod and the sin of disobedience and how horrible it was that this king killed all those toddlers in his search to rid us of our Savior. And yet, our Savior lives!
In the room, one of the girls told me she’d traded places with me in one of her classes, that the goal was to trade with someone and then to list the reasons. As she spoke, I wept with her, not because I am anyone. Her new desires are geared to walking in faith, trusting in God, being a light for Christ, living with joy, and serving Him.
In the room, at a moment when 2016 has been a tough walk for me with many spiritual attacks behind the scenes, the Lord allowed mercy and grace to drip like chocolate around my heart with this precious memory with my ladies.
It was like candy canes of hope reminded me of the stripes on my Savior’s back, and how He took those for me on the cross, that I might have eternal life. That He’s with me no matter how the day unfolds. Or how hot. Or cold it gets. Or no matter how off-key it becomes this next year.
So I pray that in 2017, I strive not to be famous for anything, but to definitely be influential for Christ! May I do this in the room. Or out of the room.
At the recovery center. Or on the street. Or even under a bridge.
May I do this in writing books. Or in my column. Or with posts on my blogs.
And if all else fails, I’ll even stand on a roof top praising God in my pajamas—for life is fast, hearts are in dire need of a Savior, and I pray to make Him known to you!

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