“Where is your God?” Sometimes, maybe often, that question comes not only from our enemies, but out of our own minds as well. It’s percolating in there, causing commotion in our being, disturbing and distressing that soul…it’s so depressing, so full of tears, simply because we know how it once was—to be refreshed, to be flooded with the light that guides us directly to Him, almost unknowingly, like a child, or a deer dropping by to sip a bit of water. So easy, it seemed, to be basking that way. But, now what? We’re trudging, that’s what, barely keeping our eyes off the muck on the ground, for there’s no energy, desire even, to get back to our God. Is it all lost?
Yet, the memories seep back in—those bits of remembering…of safety…then of wild cacaphonies of praise and worship drowning out all else. We know, at least, to move the lips into place somehow, to force a little breath out past them with some of the words—for He is there, this One without whom we are nothing. That Rock is there, we know. Just a few more words get us going…and going…“Wake up!” we yell out to our Heavenly Father, “it seems like it’s all over again.” I need more than a sip of water, I need a fire-truck full.
And so we crawl, then trudge, then walk a bit, and then we start galloping up to that remembered place. Out with the harp, the strings, the trumpet blasts, the mighty Wurlizter, the thunder and lightning—all for this God of all things and beings and time and space—and now we’re running up the aisle, to the altar, to His radiant face. Why was I so discouraged?
Let us pray…
Lord, we know you are always with us, through times of prayer and praise and through times of despair and rejection. Help us. Give us the breathe, the sighs and the words to speak to you, the strength to endure, the grace to forgive our stumblings. Without You we are lost, we are dead. In Jesus’ name, Amen.