I love quiet mornings; those moments of sacred stillness that will soon be interrupted by the chirping of birds, the buzzing of an alarm clock, or the cry of a little human requesting his first breakfast. That’s right: his first breakfast. While I find it very unfortunate that these mornings often start at 5am, there is almost a giddy anticipation when I naturally wake up before everyone else in the house. It’s as though only God Himself is awake. As though He has invited me to join Him before the start of the day to sit and watch it all unfold at the sound of His voice.
These moments are so very sweet for many reasons, but I will focus on two for now. The first is that the chance of finishing my cup of coffee while it is still hot increases dramatically when I can enjoy it without a little one competing for my attention. The second, and most important reason, is that it underscores the heart of God for me. He knows me. He knows that His introverted daughter needs quality alone time in which she can process, breathe, unwind, and refuel so that she can love and exist from a place of overflow rather than an empty tank. He knows that His daughter thrives when she has a quiet place in which to meet with Him, rifling through delicate pages of well-worn, crookedly underlined, living and breathing promises that give her something to hope in, something to repent of, something to challenge her worldview. It is in these moments, this sacred place, where I am fully aware that the Living God of the Universe is completely conscious of me.
I realize as I write that this sounds incredibly self-centered and egotistical, as though I am the sole recipient of Holy God’s undivided attention. Generally, the idea that I am in a room alone with God scares the hell out of me. I suppose it has something to do with my addiction to perfectionism and the pervasive struggle to believe the totality of the Gospel. Regardless of how it sounds, the truth that God is ever present with me remains. I have done nothing to deserve His affection or attention, and yet it is mine because of who He is as perfect Father and who I am as His daughter.
Most days I struggle to accept the above statement, but let’s not mistake that for humility. Admittedly, I have a problem with insecurity. I struggle with consistent thoughts and fears of inadequacies as a woman, a friend, a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a mother. It is true that I have done nothing to deserve the love of Christ, nothing to merit His invitation for relationship with Him. However, when I allow the focus of my flawed nature to eclipse the glory of God and the depths of His grace towards me then I’ve crossed from humility into idolatry. I have gone from worshipping the power of the Gospel and the beauty of its Author to worshiping myself and the depths of my depravity.
Friends, it is no small thing to look Jesus in the eye and argue with Him over your worth. So often I have attempted to justify and diminish this struggle, yet normalizing it does not make it any less dangerous. When we walk in the fullness of our God-given identity, we inspire others to do the same. I don’t know about you, but I want those around me, especially my own children, to courageously walk in the truth of who God has called them to be. Furthermore, if Jesus is not altogether trustworthy, He is not trustworthy at all. We must choose to believe that He is who He says He is and that we are who He says we are if we claim to believe Him at all.
You are worth the death of Christ. The power of the Gospel is greater than any stronghold. The depth of the grace of God is far deeper than any fall you could experience. The attentive and affectionate presence of the Father for you, His child, is always wholly and completely directed towards you. His ability to be fully engaged and conscious of you does not diminish His ability to be fully engaged and conscious of me. He is that great of a Father, that capable of a God, and that sufficient of a Savior.Where there is denial of these truths, there cannot be the fullness of life He longs to give us this side of eternity.
The heart of the Father is for you, for those moments in which He can speak into the very depths of your being, “I see you, child. I love you so. Come away with me for a little while.”