Deep draughts of God

This morning I lay in bed with my eyes closed. Nothing was unusual about that. I have mastered that art of sleeping with numerous practices.

But this morning I lay in bed with my thoughts focused, directed, centered on Jesus. It was warm and toasty under the layers of cover in the frigid room, but I didn't center on the warmth of the bed, or the softness of the mattress or the stillness and quiet of the room itself. No, this morning I centered as long as I was able on Jesus. I dug deep to think of him, our relationship, my lack of committment at times. I even tried to merely lie there without moving or thought.

I tried to imagine my world as being nothing but Jesus. I tried to reach out dusty hands toward the living water. I tried to hang on to Jesus as long as I could despite the obstacles. I tried to be in that moment as long as I possibly could before the phone started to ring or the dogs started to bark or the alarm clock did its thing.

Ten minutes, long, long, long minutes passed. I recognize that some spend a hour on this first thing in the morning and I pray this doesn't speak to my lack of committment or my lack of love or my lack in general. But ten long, long, long minutes passed.

Finally, I rose, slipped into slippers, rolled into robe and I glided out of the bedroom with the dogs into another day.

Why is it so hard for me? My mind, such as it is, is a terrible thing to waste apparently. I know this is hard to believe, but I have a great deal of difficuly shutting it off, of commanding it to simply stop, of wishing it to wind down.

Remember the story about Jesus and his disciples in the boat as they were going "to the other side?" The storm came up and waves poured into the boat and Jesus was in the stern...sleeping. The disciples were bailing, figuratively and literally on both the boat and the Master of the boat. Finally they awoke Jesus and the Christ told the wind to pipe down and the rain to stop falling.

The point is that Jesus had such disciple that he could A) sleep through a storm and B) tell it to stop.

I have such discipline that I can't not sleep through 30 minutes of intense listening to the one who can do the most for me and B) can't tell my own mind to shut down. My ability to worship is compromised by my inability to settle, to look to the inner, to coax calm into my own body. My relationship to Jesus is much like my relationship with my wife and/or my children or even my grandchildren. It is based upon me talking, me directing, me leading. I struggle to listen to Him, to her or to them because what that would mean is I'm not in charge, I'm not leading, I'm not talking.

Hebrews 2 in the Message reads: It's crucial that we keep a firm grip on what we've heard so that we don't drift off.

That is talking about drifting away from the gospel, but clearly it also means to me to keep a firm grip so that I don't drift from our relationship, from the Lord Himself.

Mother Theresa said of her prayer life, "Before you speak, it is necessary for you to listen, for God speaks in the silence of the heart."

Begin today with a minute or two of sincere silence, at least on your end. Increase it as you have want or strength to do. Listen for God; listen TO God.

Work at it till you reach this stage, the stage of the Psalmist:

"A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek; I want to drink God, deep draughts of God. I'm thirsty for God-alive. I wonder "Will I ever make it -- arrive and drink in God's presence?" I'm on a diet of tears -- tears for breakfast, tears for supper. All day long people knock at my door, Pestering, "Where is this God of yours?"

Ten minutes of silent non-motion, ten minutes of none-exertion and I can safely say, "Right here where He always was, is and will be."