My heart was heavy this morning. And I wanted so badly to be able to pray through what I was processing and to give it my all, but I just didn’t have it in me. Do you know the feeling?
I trudged through breakfast and taking care of Henry in a cloud. I watched the snow fall in giant, perfect flakes outside and tried to put all of my energy into thinking about the weather. I wondered if I’d have noticed–on any other given day, the way white tufts were piling up like cotton blossoms on the tips of branches out the front window.
Distraction is not a good replacement for going to God.
But I tried anyway. I thought about the eggs as I scrambled them in the pan. I tried to enjoy my coffee and couldn’t. I put the little one down for a nap, picked out something to wear, started the water for a shower. And then it struck me. “All who are thirsty, all who are weak, come to the fountain, dip your heart in the streams of life. Let the pain and the sorrow be washed a way, let the waves of His mercy…as deep cries out to deep, we sing, ‘Come Lord Jesus, come. Come Lord Jesus, come.'”
The words washed over me like a wave. “Come Lord Jesus, come. Holy Spirit, come.” I let myself drown out everything else and embraced each word. The lyrics felt like a deep breath, a safe place to land, a peace offering. I made them my prayer–the one I couldn’t find an hour earlier, and that I so desperately needed. God met me where I was lacking, covered over me in a way I didn’t expect.
Still replaying the chorus of the song in my head a while later, “Heart of Worship” came to mind. “I’ll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required. You search much deeper within, through the way things appear. You’re looking into my heart. I’m coming back to the heart of worship, and it’s all about you, it’s all about you, Jesus…”
“Come Lord Jesus, come. Holy Spirit, come. It’s all about you, Jesus.”
Even in the moment when I couldn’t articulate a request to God, He had already found me and been searching my heart. Gently prodding, He brought me back to what was important, used my vulnerability for good, reminded me that a posture of surrendered worship is a worthy offering. And honestly, it felt like a cool balm, a protective covering over my spirit.
Tonight I’m still singing, “Come Lord Jesus, come,” –still unsure of what exactly to pray in my own words. But my heart is a little lighter, and I know that God is carrying the yoke. “Holy Spirit, come…” Sometimes the invitation is all it takes.
acknowledging joy in the offering…desiring to be more than a song,