That evening a coupla my church buddies and I were out cruisin' pool halls and lookin' for fun. We happened to drive past our church, and noticed lights on in the basement. There were out-of-province plates on a few cars parked out front. We thought of only one thing: girls. So we parked and went inside.
Indeed there were a handful of lovely girls in the basement, and one of them had the "witnessing button" above pinned to her jacket. Hm, never seen that kinda thing before. The guys and girls were all out-of-towners, which was even odder. "How'd you get into our locked church?" It turned out their leader, Dave, had stopped at a phone booth when they hit the outskirts of town, and called a Meadowlark member he knew, asking if they could go pray in our church basement. "You're just . . . praying in here?" They invited us to pray with them, and since they were so friendly—and the girls were so cute—we agreed. It was about 8pm.
None of us got out of there unscathed.
I don't remember anything in particular that I or anybody else prayed. Only that I instantly felt abhorred by my own lukewarm apathy, and that I desperately needed God's forgiveness. I kept hearing car doors slamming outside, and people coming downstairs. When I looked up I saw several of our own church teens praying—and weeping, just like me. I remember wondering why there was a puddle of water on the table in front of me . . . then I realized I'd been weeping, and was soaked in perspiration.
The praying and weeping went on and on as more young people arrived. Without cel-phones or social media, Meadowlark kids kept arriving all thru the evening, somehow drawn like moths to a flame. Those of us who had come earlier had received the forgiveness we sought, and the Holy Spirit had filled us with such love and peace—and joy! So we went upstairs to give our downstairs friends the privacy they needed to work through their business with God.
Upstairs we visited, we hugged, we shouted, we laughed, we jumped up and down. We all had to phone home, because it was now after midnight. About a dozen of us Meadowlark kids were in the basement that night. Some adults had arrived and made arrangements to host the Saskatoonians overnight.
At church the next morning, our pastor introduced Dave, who briefly described the awakening in Saskatchewan, then invited us Meadowlark kids onto the platform to tell what God had done for us the night before. Boom! It happened again—this time upstairs to grownups in the middle of church. It was bedlam, lasting 'til mid-afternoon. The Jesus Movement was in full bloom—and my church, along with hundreds of people in Edmonton that fall, would never be the same.
None of us got out of there unscathed.
I don't remember anything in particular that I or anybody else prayed. Only that I instantly felt abhorred by my own lukewarm apathy, and that I desperately needed God's forgiveness. I kept hearing car doors slamming outside, and people coming downstairs. When I looked up I saw several of our own church teens praying—and weeping, just like me. I remember wondering why there was a puddle of water on the table in front of me . . . then I realized I'd been weeping, and was soaked in perspiration.
The praying and weeping went on and on as more young people arrived. Without cel-phones or social media, Meadowlark kids kept arriving all thru the evening, somehow drawn like moths to a flame. Those of us who had come earlier had received the forgiveness we sought, and the Holy Spirit had filled us with such love and peace—and joy! So we went upstairs to give our downstairs friends the privacy they needed to work through their business with God.
Upstairs we visited, we hugged, we shouted, we laughed, we jumped up and down. We all had to phone home, because it was now after midnight. About a dozen of us Meadowlark kids were in the basement that night. Some adults had arrived and made arrangements to host the Saskatoonians overnight.
At church the next morning, our pastor introduced Dave, who briefly described the awakening in Saskatchewan, then invited us Meadowlark kids onto the platform to tell what God had done for us the night before. Boom! It happened again—this time upstairs to grownups in the middle of church. It was bedlam, lasting 'til mid-afternoon. The Jesus Movement was in full bloom—and my church, along with hundreds of people in Edmonton that fall, would never be the same.