Breaking Bad: The Sin

image courtesy of Staurt Miles / freedigitalphotos.net

image courtesy of Stuart Miles / freedigitalphotos.net

Woah. Did I just dream about Chris Evans?

I woke up that morning in a daze. I was at the beach with my friends, trying to relax after a horrible summer (year, really) at work. My mind had enough to think and worry about…so why did I just dream about Chris Evans?

I don’t even know that much about him. Pretty sure I hated him after seeing Fantastic Four (loved the movie, but I remember thinking it wasn’t too much of a stretch for him to play the obnoxious Johnny Storm—which is mean, but you know, prophet here). I’m a huge fan of the Avengers, but Cap is not my favorite Avenger by any stretch—I waited to see the two Captain America movies on TV, and I hadn’t seen much else with him in it. This isn’t like in last April when I couldn’t stop dreaming about Alex Ovechkin because I was watching tons of hockey and the playoffs were consuming me. No, this was weird—I don’t even know what could have possibly triggered me to dream about Chris Evans. I knew nothing about him and didn’t really want or need to.

Except that I couldn’t stop thinking about him after the dream. For four weeks, I just allowed myself to keep thinking and dreaming about him…which was, in many ways, my own personal highway to hell.

When I can’t get someone or something out of my mind, after a while, my preoccupation with it tends to drive me to research the heck out of it. For example, when I started liking hockey, I learned as much about the sport as I possibly could. I didn’t just know my team, I knew all the teams. I was a sponge, taking in everything I could. There was nothing I didn’t want to know.

So naturally, after four weeks, I needed to know who Chris Evans was. It wasn’t enough to just dream…I needed to know. And supernaturally, thankfully, that’s where God met me—because the first article I read not-so-surprisingly confirmed to me that Chris Evans is a mercy gift.

This seems like no big deal, but for me, it fell right into a pattern. Mercy and prophets are beautifully opposites that attract and need each other. I tend to draw mercy males like a moth to a flame. It’s my prophet boldness, fearlessness, and decisiveness that draws them to me. I can pick them out of a crowd with ease. Once I met a friend’s best friend and knew from the moment he looked at me that he was a mercy gift. We became fast friends, and he (of course) eventually broke my heart (as most mercy males tend to do).

Two weeks ago and six weeks into my lust-fest, I was driving to my friend’s house and listening to some worship music. The song My Beloved (amazing song!) came on, and I found myself thinking of Mr. Evans as it played. Did he know he was God’s beloved, God’s child, specifically made the way he was for a reason? I broke down into heavy tears. For the first time, I was thinking about him as God did and I began interceding for him.

As I continued praying, I distinctly heard the Lord ask me how many mercy males he has put on my heart and in my life over the years. The answer was innumerable. I couldn’t even begin to count how many mercy males I have been drawn to or have torn at my heart strings. I have consistently had bad boundaries with them and experienced heartbreak at their hands. So many mercy males have been a part of my life. And then the Lord asked me very loudly, very clearly, and very pointedly: “And how many of them have you prayed for instead of lusting after?”

OUCH.

(The answer was very few.)

This was the moment that God began breaking bad in me.

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