Irise before dawn, stop at the kitchen, drink two large glasses of water, put several pieces of wood on the embers of last night’s fire, and then settle in my chair for devotional time.
I am here to meet with God. And over the years I have concluded that it doesn’t matter what rituals or forms I use or what books I start with. It is all a part of waiting at the gates of the temple for an audience with my Creator. There is a deep mystery in worship—a delicate divine mechanism at work here—that I cannot interpret, a process from heaven that I cannot explain.
The busy day awaits: things to be done, people to meet, a thousand different wheels all turning to move life along the path of productivity to some unsearchable accomplishment. Yet I sit in quietness—waiting, listening, attentive to the echo from the throne, a whisper from the heart of God, a sense of the presence of the Spirit of God within me.
It is in the quietness of those moments that conversation begins to fl ow from within my soul. I pour out my heart to God, the burdens of my spirit, the sorrows that crush me, the perplexity of relationships. They all flow out together. Then there are my own inadequacies, my sense of sorrow for things done in haste or left undone. It’s a groan rather than a song. Confession is difficult, yet cleansing—always ending in gratitude. And I exclaim, “Why me, God? How is it that You could choose one like me?”
The natural flow of the heart now moves toward listening. “I am finished, Lord. If there is anything You would like to tell me, I am now open.” Waiting for a response from God should receive at least equal time to all other conversation with God. Now, while there is silence of the soul, He speaks to my heart. Sometimes it is only the sense of peace that He hears, He receives, He understands, and He loves. At other times, it is the sense that the High Priest of my soul has received my feeble attempt at worship, and my prayer is heard, accepted, and answered in His name.
So the river of my audience with God rushes over narrow chasms, tumbles over rocks, and ebbs and flows, swirls and eddies, until finally there is rest in the still, deep waters of unconditional acceptance.
Here is the great mystery of worship. Our prayers are so feeble, the outreaching of our hearts so inarticulate, even selfish. Yet the miracle of this time with God is that the Holy Spirit understands, not my pandering, but the intent of my heart. Romans 8:26 says that with groaning which cannot be uttered, the Spirit makes intercession for us, and the Father, who searches our hearts and knows the mind of the Spirit, accepts that intent of the deep longings of our soul.
Oh, the amazing miracle of that hour with God. An hour of waiting transforms the day into one of anticipation, waiting upon God to carry us through the storms of life, safe in the palm of His hand.
