Copyright 2017 Theresa Harvard Johnson
I felt like an oddball. (And yes, I am speaking of what was going on emotionally in my heart. It was real. I had not crossed into the spiritual reality, security or maturity of it at the time.)
When the prophets in training were called before the congregation to serve in the presbytery, I always wanted to carry my notebook and a pen with me. I remember the minister telling me (more than once) that I could not do that. He said it was a distraction for this type of ministry. He said I needed to learn how to be present for the people and prophesy from my spirit.
Let us just say that as a young prophet, I did not like that but I obeyed.
While I learned to follow the group protocol without offense, I would stand there… with my hands “literally burning” beside me, longing to write what I was hearing. My palms would be flushed. The only thing I knew to do was open and close my fists or hold my hands firmly across my waist until the evening ended. Sometimes, I would be so overwhelmed by this need to write that once we were released from our assignment, I would race to my seat, grab my pen and paper… and frantically write down what I was hearing.
