There’s been a call to my soul recently from the Father that has had my heart longing in ways I cannot remember doing before. It’s a call to stillness – both in body and soul. It’s more than something he is asking my to do. Asking sounds like an assignment or a favor. It feels like there is a checklist that I should complete to help someone or to earn praise.
Rather this call is something more akin to an invitation. He is calling me, inviting me into something more – and it is a holy moment, a gift, a sacred glimpse at the ancient and the beautiful – the true Life.
It’s how my ADHD mind that can’t complete a sentence without another thought interrupting learns to hear the whisper of the Father and feel his breath on my face as he sings over me. It’s how my heart, that is hungering and thirsting for so much more than this world has to offer can finally be satisfied.
It’s not a task – it’s an invitation, a pursuance, a proposal to something deeper, more intimate and more real than I’ve ever know.
I find myself both giddy with excitement and wary of disappointment at the same time. It’s a tension of wanting to do everything I can do – striving and learning and praying harder and pushing in, and still knowing that I need to simply sit and be still. No talking, no reading, to background music. Just sitting together – me and my beloved Jesus. It’s the tension of knowing that he might not speak, but he still wants me to be there, present, with him, and that is enough.
But is it really? Can I trust this overture, this ridiculous idea that the God of the universe, the one who created absolutely everything, really wants to meet with me in this day, this hour, this minute? That all of it is purposeful and intentional and very important to him – both now and as he took it all on at the cross?
In her book The Liturgy of the Ordinary Tish Harrison Warren says, “The Psalmist declares, ‘ This is the day that the Lord has made.’ This one. We wake not to a vague or general mercy from a far-off God. God, in delight and wisdom, has made, named, and blessed this average day. What I in my weakness see as another monotonous day in a string of days, God has given as a singular gift. When Jesus died for his people, he knew my name in the particularity of this day.”
So as I wake up and rub my eyes and groan about getting out of bed (I am NOT a morning person), even before the coffee, I am trying to learn the practice of taking a few moments to simply allow my Father to sit with me, to rub my back as I slowly start to move, to listen to his song over me, to see his smile and adoration of me that he gets to spend another day with his child fulfilling his good and perfect plan in and through me. I will be still and remember that my belovedness, my position of being his daughter and being adored by him, comes not from my own strivings, but from the work of Jesus on the cross and who He is. And that is more than enough.