I love my husband. I love my children. I love my parents, and brother, and his wife. I love my bitty baby niece. I love my extended family. I love my dogs. I love my friends. Oh! And I almost forgot, I love God.
Involvement in the molding and creation of tiny humans, who grow to be taller than us, but need us even more than ever is humbling. As a young mom, I think I thought my children would grow less dependent upon me as they grew older, and upwards, but I was wrong. In some ways, this can be compared to my own discipline with prayer. Despite life experiences, and knowledge, I have not grown less dependent on my Creator, in fact, as people need me more, I need God more, as I seek to know how to supply their needs. Similarly, there are days in which my children talk to me a lot, and we enjoy each other's company immensely; but there are other days where either of us grunt or fuss and barely exchange words, much less encouraging ones. Yet we love each other all the same. Likewise, there are mornings when after the shocking surprise of the alarm sounds, I find myself dreading engagement with the world around me. In those quiet, still dark moments of the morning, I can not make myself put my feet on the floor without begging God for the strength to push back the covers and get moving. Then, there are the other days. The days when I am full of arrogance and self centered pride. I awaken bound and determined to exercise my plan for the day. Hours pass where I don't even give God the opportunity to enter my racing thoughts. If I pray, it is as a last resort, for pretense, or with a cold heart, while piloting my own ship without notice of the stormy seas. Yet He loves me all the same. Drowning in stress and turmoil, I am determined to "work it out". Just like the Old Testament Israelites, I am drawn toward the loving and open arms of God, where He parts the sea of despair, bringing escape from evil, only to turn on my heels and stomp away when I am too busy, too selfish, or too angry.
It is ugly. I am ashamed to admit it. It is only in true worshipful surrender that I experience His presence. And that is not because He hasn't bothered to show up, but instead, I am too busy serving my other guests, to realize He has already arrived. Rather than anxiously preparing to come into His presence so I can honor Him as my guest of honor, I treat Him as just another person in my long list of guests. A distraction from my selfish desires. My phone time. My Facebook time. My house. My car. My sleep. My thoughts. My. My. My. My. Even as I write this in the middle of a coffee shop, I feel repulsed by my obsession with me. God forgive me.
Yet, God created me. He even created me in His image. He has given me the ability and the gifts with which to worship Him, in a way that is uniquely satisfying to Him. My most worshipful moments are when I am singing. It brings Him honor and glory- the things upon which He desires my life to be built. Not because my voice is perfect, or the song is beautiful, but because it is a conduit through which my adoration for Him actively flows. Sometimes though, life is hard, and in the midst of struggles, I forget to continue to worship Him. I stop singing. We are faced with difficult decisions. Financial worries. Health crises. The heartbreak of friends. In the middle of that life "stuff", I find myself gasping in a suffocating sea of stress and selfishness. How audacious of me to even think I can work it out? God doesn't call me to work it out, but instead He calls me to surrender. He wants to be exalted and worshiped through my trust and faith that He will care for me. He calls me to sing. Out loud. To Him. For Him. Unto Him.
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