Do you find there are times when God goes
on and on and on about something?
And you know in your heart of hearts
it’s not a topic He’s going to drop.
Yep. Me, too.
Recently, I found myself writing about one of my favorite verses of scripture.
I wrote of how God keeps drawing me back to it, time and again.
I wrote, ” ….. it calls to me from the middle of
my tattered burgundy Bible where it is circled and highlighted
Did you see that?
<stab to the heart with loud thud and moans “UGH”>
Oh, my, how He keeps reminding me.
He calls me. I hear Him. But, I don’t heed His voice.
He calls me.
He whispers my name.
He woos me.
He uses sweet sounds, gentle melodies, dear lullabys.
He dances, swings His muscular arms from side to side and
throws a vibrating tambourine over His stately head.
He shouts from the mountain tops
with resounding bass.
He knocks things out of my hands …
yes, throws them down on the ground
where they lay shattered in pieces ….
just to get my attention.
He turns out the light
leaving me in total, complete, utter darkness
and then throws on the high beam lamps
illuminate a topic
Not unlike a toddler,
too busy to hear the Father’s voice
because I’m playing with some meaningless toy,
I continue to tinker
with little trinkets and baubles,
knick-knacks and what-nots
that offer no lasting value
and will be burned like hay …
charred, crisp, sooty stubble.
I am oblivious. I am blind. I am deaf. I paralyzed.
He has been quiet of late.
I have not heard His voice of late.
I have been too busy to hear Him of late.
How does this happen?
That which I desire more than anything…
evidently, I do not truly desire at all.
Or I would pursue …
or even beg,
I went on a photoshoot on Friday morning with some friends from class. We met downtown before the sun came up. We explored the waterfront, the misty sidewalks and an abandoned building. We watched the sun rise over grass, water and bridge.
We explored an old warehouse that experienced a fire some years ago. The brick facade was crumbling. New life of reedy, weedy green is sprouted amongst decaying timbers, rusty diamond plate, and charred remains of another era.
As I stood there on the upper level
rafters for roofing
light streaming through
I knew that God was showing me
a picture of
my spiritual life
in the physical world. In the last three months, I’ve found it hard to hear His voice. The days of living my life at home, nurturing my offspring, guiding character, directing colored pencil and composing in the kitchen are over…. at least, for now. There is hardly time to cook, much less guide, fondle and nurture. I have five hours MAX to spend with my youngest sprout. More often than not, those hours are whittled away to four, three or less. If no time for flesh of my loin, underfoot, needy and wanting … then how is there some for Him?
But, I know in my heart
and yes, even in my head,
that when I put Him first
He will multiply and bless the rest.
Why is it so difficult?
Why is it the hardest movement that I make
towards His word
and quiet time alone with Him?
When I know that my gift
is the sweetest present that I could give to myself
if only I would ….
Help me, Lord. Give me strength
to do that which should be so simple.