Monday, November 26, 2012

An almost-poem of where I am

I used to be on staff at a large church. Sunday, for staff members, is an inherently different experience. At worship services, we are the servants, the ones who design and implement an environment for the crowd to worship the Father. Sometimes, we worship Him too, but our goal is to serve. Our worship comes at other moments; it is good.

The worship center of our church was always meaningful to me. Even mornings that completely occupied me with problems and work...on those days, still, the worship center was a place of God's presence. I could not always pull my head away from the work, but I always felt Him there. Some days I would enter, and hundreds of people were worshiping or listening to a sermon, and I was not fully engaged in my spirit. I was in servant mode.

In those times, I often imagined my Father, enthroned at the front of the room, receiving the glory and praise that He is worthy of. I enter, not participating, and He sees me. He nods gently at me as I slip into a chair off to the side. I am His beloved daughter. I am written on His very heart, and He sees me. It doesn't matter that I am not worshiping Him with all I am. I am tired, and He knows everything. I am so comforted to be there, because I am His.

Now, I am in a completely different place. My life is very good, but I will be honest, part of me is hurt and still healing. Because I am a certain maturity (we won't say "old"), the hurt doesn't consume me; it's not terribly important that it is there. But my Daddy knows. I live this wonderful life where He has placed me, and I never stop talking with Him. Please do not lose the goodness of where I am. But the hurt keeps me from some of the formality of my faith. I don't formally pray much, not as often as I used to.

Sometimes, my formal prayers have a picture, like the one I used to have when I was a staff member. I am standing by my Daddy, and I am looking at what He looks at. I am listening always for what He would say, but I can't quite turn and talk to Him. Instead, I reach up my tiny hand...I find His hand, and slip mine inside, and just stand next to Him, in silence.

I am His beloved daughter, and I am hidden in His heart. And He is glad to hold my hand and just wait. He is. This is enough for me.

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