This weekend marks Pentecost—a moment in the church calendar that used to come and go without much thought from me. We honored it in services as a kid. I remember those well. Some of my memories of those sermons are not the best because I was afraid of the story. But I remember hearing them all the time. I knew about the fire, the wind, and the tongues. I believed in the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—but if I’m being honest, the Holy Spirit always felt... distant. Maybe even a little intimidating. Like it was a topic we didn't talk about. No one around me really focused on it.
I knew God the Father as the Creator. I knew Jesus as my Savior and Redeemer. But the Spirit?
He was the One we didn’t talk much about.
The One that felt unknown.
And if I’m really honest—He was the One we were afraid of. The Spirit was the one that we just mentioned in prayers. "Come to us Spirit." But never talked about. In fact, I remember people specifically telling me to stay away from the Holy Spirit people (the ones that spoke in tongues and radically lived).
I remember being in college, sitting in a class with my New Testament professor, Dr. Vonder Bruegge. The class was specifically on the Holy Spirit. On the very first day, he said something I’ll never forget:
"I don’t know all the answers on this one, but we will learn together."
That statement did something in me. It gave me permission to admit that maybe we weren’t supposed to understand everything. Maybe the Spirit wasn’t meant to be figured out but followed. Not boxed in—but experienced. I still didn't understand any of it. It almost felt like I was faking my connection with the Spirit because I knew nothing, I never experienced Him.
I went on a missions trip in college that started to challenge my view of the Holy Spirit. We stood in Church of Living Hope in Tyler Texas. The pastor, Pastor Herndon, was praying over us. I was hearing so many languages, I've never experienced tounges before! I simply asked God to calm my heart because I was honestly very scared. Suddenly I could hear what the prayers were saying. I could interpret. But I still had no idea what that meant. In the same church, I could discern a Spirit in a man that was not good. Again, I had no idea what that meant. It was the first time i EVER experienced any of that.
The Spirit We Didn’t Understand
For much of my life, the Holy Spirit felt like the strange part of God. Like that strange person that you talk to but you don't understand at all.
I had heard whispers of people “catching the Spirit,” and stories about speaking in tongues or shaking in church services. And I’ll admit—there was a part of me that silently thought: Is that real? Or is that just emotionalism? Are they truly being touched by God or faking it? Is this all for a show?
Because when you're raised in a setting where faith is mostly neat, polished, and quiet... the Holy Spirit can feel disruptive. How can God want worship that seems so extravagant and weird? However, He is so much more!
Scripture is clear: the Holy Spirit is part of who God is. And not just a passive part—an active, living, personal presence.
John 14:26 says:
“But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.”
I had just never been taught how to welcome Him. I was more taught to be cautious than curious. And fear—especially fear wrapped in religion—can keep us from freedom. It can keep us from fully experiencing God and His whole being. We can easily run to Jesus for healing and help and forgiveness, we can easily ask God for blessings and help in life. But the Spirit? What do you ask the Spirit for?
From Distance to Intimacy
It wasn’t until I moved to Pennsylvania and found myself in a Spirit-filled church that something inside me started to shift.
I walked into a community that wasn’t afraid of the Spirit.
They welcomed Him.
They made room for Him in worship, in prayer, in their conversations.
They weren’t worried if it got “a little weird” because they had already tasted something real.
And that realness cracked me open.
I had to be willing to let go of the fear.
To lay down the need for everything to be tidy and explainable. And allow my emotions to be free to move. And that’s when I encountered the Spirit of God in a way I never had before.
I remember standing in worship, and suddenly feeling something I couldn’t describe. A warmth. A wind. A knowing. Like fire—but not the kind that burns. The kind that ignites. I remember being in class where we were told that we can ask the Spirit to come into our lives and He will give us more than we can even imagine. And I wanted that so desperately.
Just like the apostles in Acts 2:3–4:
“They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit…”
That wasn’t just a story—it became my testimony. Fire became something that the Spirit used to change my heart. Not in a hurting way, but in a healing way! Through the flame of the Spirit.
The Spirit is my Friend
Now, when I worship, sometimes I speak in a heavenly language.
I pray for healing.
I’ve given prophetic words or encouragements that I know didn’t come from me.
And I feel the Spirit—not just in church—but on the walking trail. In the grocery store. In the quiet moments of everyday life.
At home, I wake up and welcome Him into my day. I asked the Spirit for guidance and protection and help. I asked for words and advice when needed. He's my constant conversation companion and has truly helped me not be drawn into some really bad things because He pushed me away.
He is not someone I fear anymore.
He is my Helper (John 14:16).
My Teacher.
My Comforter.
My Friend.
Romans 8:26 puts it perfectly:
“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness... the Spirit Himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”
There is no fear in that. Only intimacy. Only love. Sometimes, my prayers are silent and all i can utter is "Please." And I know that the Spirit moves on my behalf! What a blessing.
Pentecost Still Burns
Sometimes we treat Pentecost like it was a one-time event in a dusty corner of history. But Pentecost didn’t end. The Spirit didn’t stop.
He still comes.
He still fills.
He still speaks.
He still heals.
He still wants you
He still intercedes.
And He wants to meet you. Not just in a church service—but in your real, daily, beautiful, messy life.
I don’t have all the answers. I still wrestle with the mystery.
But what I do know is this: I’m no longer afraid.
Because perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18).
And the Spirit is the love of God poured out into our hearts (Romans 5:5).
So this Pentecost, I’m celebrating the One I once didn’t understand.
The One I feared.
The One who has become a daily, steady, fiery presence in my life.
I’ll never be the same.
And I pray you won’t be either.
If you haven't asked the Spirit for a friendship, may I walk you through a prayer here?
Holy Spirit, I welcome You. I welcome you to dwell in my life.
Not just into my church, but into my heart.
Break down every wall of fear or confusion that I’ve built. That has kept you at bay and away from my true desire.
I want to know You—not just learn about You.
Fill me a fresh with your fire.
Be my Comforter, my Teacher, my Strength.
Lead me into truth.
Fill me with Your power, Your peace, and Your presence.
Amen.
