Several moments continued to quietly shake me.
They weren’t dramatic.
They were small, often confusing… but impossible to ignore.
I remember a friend from my high school cross-country team telling me excitedly,
'There’s revival happening in Indonesia! Dead people are rising. Miracles are everywhere. In the name of Jesus!'
I smiled and nodded, but inside I thought, 'Okay, sure. Classic exaggerated revival talk.'
Because our theology had taught us:
That kind of miracle? It belonged to the time of the Apostles.
Whenever stories like these surfaced,
I tucked them away.
Not denying them. Not accepting them.
Just quietly storing them deep inside.
But a few years later, I actually met Mel Tari—the man at the center of that movement—
when he came to speak at our church.
But the weight of those stored-away moments…
It didn’t crush me.
It cracked the ice beneath my feet.
And for the first time, I began to wonder:
'Maybe the way I’ve believed God to be…
was shaped more by my theology than by God Himself.'