Sometimes, I just want to write and not care. I want to not edit. I want to say what I want to say, whether or not it sounds eloquent or polished. Because I’m tired of trying. This is not to say I don’t want to pursue excellence in my work, just that I need days where my work doesn’t have to try. So I’m going to post this, without caring.
I really care about my relationship with God. It’s the most important thing in my life. It may seem boring. Maybe it’s not the stuff people want to read about. But this is the most important thing about me, and I care about it more than anything. I don’t really care if anyone reads this, but I feel that I need to post it anyway. Maybe for myself, who knows.
I’m listening to the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. Sometimes, you just find a gem of an album, or handful of songs, that you know is going to become a major part of your life. Like its songs will be tied to the events of your life, and become the soundtrack of your walk. This music that I’m listening to now, is that for me. Maybe I’ll share it sometime, but not today.
Peppermint tea is my companion as I type these words. I’ve already had a cup of coffee, lavender green tea, and loads of water. For some reason, I am always so thirsty in the mornings. I head straight to the kitchen for water upon awakening.
I thirst, physically, in the morning.
I can feel my heart moving at the revelation now.
Whether or not I realize it, every morning I awake, my spirit needs the water, the refreshing of the Holy Spirit. My soul cries out for the quenching of its thirst. I need His Word. I need His presence. Yet so often, I don’t even acknowledge this spiritual thirst, let alone do anything to satisfy it.
I think God’s patience with me is so beautiful. Yet while He shows more mercy and grace to me than I could ever ask for, His heart longs for me to come and have my thirsts quenched. His patience intermingles with deep desire for me to come near.
Sometimes, I go through very dry seasons. Are these seasons the result of my own efforts? No, because that would mean everything depends on me. That I bear the burden of my relationship with God. And that isn’t true.
Yet, does God Himself bear the burden of my relationship with Him, alone? That isn’t true either.
It takes the both of us, ever moving toward the other. Ever bending the ear to listen. Ever speaking and seeking and pursuing, and communing.
So what is the cause of my thirsty soul? What is the reason for my desert?
I believe it is the Sovereignty of God’s hand to use my very actions to draw me nearer.
I believe it’s my actions of not seeking, not choosing, the little choices I make to put my thirsty heart on the shelf and go about my life without being satisfied.
I believe it’s God’s hand using those very choices and behaviors to lead me into a desert so that our relationship can grow.
Because it’s the driest seasons, the seasons we are most thirsty, the seasons we are most in need of water, that our relationship actually gains depth. It grows beneath the surface, where its roots can be deep.
Could it be that I actually grow closer to God in the desert than in any other season? I don’t know, but I think it’s likely. Could it be that I actually grow closer to Him in the dry times, when I think I’m only growing further away? Things aren’t always as they seem, as I perceive them to be.
Often my perceptions, most especially about my relationship with God, are inaccurate. They are small, when my God is great. They are short in knowledge, when my God and my relationship with and to Him is more vast than I could possibly know.
He sees so much more than I see. The clarity of God’s vision when He looks at my relationship with Him is far beyond the scope of my understanding, and I won’t fully see as He sees, until I move past the boundaries of this earthly life.
I’m slowly learning to see my relationship with God with different eyes.
He looks at my heart.
“I love you. We are good. We are close. I love us.”
Yet, He pulls on my heartstrings.
It is a steady stamp of approval and love with a constant invitation for more.
It is a genuine, immovable “I love you.” with a solid, gentle tug “Let’s go deeper.”
I’m learning to see it. And it’s liberating. There is never condemnation for not moving. There is always a pull to keep moving. There is never shame for not choosing. There is always an invitation to keep choosing.
It is never violent, but never stagnant.
It is mercy and grace combined with awe and fear. This, my friends, is the character of God. It alone has the power to move the heart to step into greater things.