My hands were raised, eyes closed, attention focused on the
Throne. Against my leg came a soft
bump. Three-feet tall, a warm
little body gently pressed itself there and stayed. My nephew. He’d
come down the row of chairs to greet me, to receive my affection. There was nothing incongruous about
dropping my hands, slipping to the chair, and cuddling him into me while the
congregation’s song continued over our heads. This was easy; this was right; this was worship. And I wasn’t in the least offended over
being called to switch my attention from God on the Throne to a little one I
loved.
His trust had been well-placed. He knew he would be received…it didn’t matter whether his
aunt was visiting with his mother, talking to God, saving the world, or reading
a book. She would welcome him.
Do I realize, I wondered this morning, that the Father feels
the same about me? He is saving the world, and working hard on
coordinating billions of daily details and circumstances, while strategically
placing whispers into human hearts that will germinate and bear life-long
salvations. When I come up to Him,
just wanting to be looked at and touched, His receptive happiness over the
experience of being trusted and loved by me is open, quick, and genuine. (Since He’s God, being distracted by me
doesn’t keep Him from doing all those other omnipotence-wielding things—which
is a comfort to the rest of you, I’m sure.)
How does He feel when I do not receive all this love and openness from Him?
I had a houseguest once who was extremely thankful. But she didn't take anything I offered, except the bed to sleep in. My home is an open invitation. It has pleasant living and sitting rooms, with rocking
chairs and couches. During the
morning the sun shines across the flowers in the back garden, where there is a
patio umbrella, bistro table, cushioned chair…everything to make a sweet
restorative place for contemplation and rest. The refrigerator is stocked with healthy food, organic milk,
and the best ice cream in the freezer.
Cool breeze comes through a window just behind the baby grand
piano. While the birds are
chirping their species songs behind your back, and the window light is perfect
on the music, worship and love can be done. There are stimulating magazines and cool rooms; bathtubs and
showers and hot coffee in the pot.
Icy sun-tea and fresh lemons to squeeze into it. Mint for water growing by the door; lettuce
and cilantro and ripening tomatoes in the vegetable plots.
Chocolate and water in the guest room, and an antique dresser to unpack
into.
But she only slept in the bed then scurried out the front door, thanking me. Her towel was perfectly re-draped in the bathroom, as if she had never used it, as if she was supposed to be invisible.
How I wanted her to enjoy all this—not for my sake, for
hers. I was sharing something God
gave me, and I wanted her to feel the hospitable acceptance that belongs to her
just because she belongs to Jesus.
It is a way of honoring Him, this honoring of brethren.
My heart ached. I wished she had taken my things, and
left with a face shiny from the rest, the breeze, the avocados and coconuts and
olive oils; left with protein rushing to her cells to sustain them and a
scripture-song frolicking inside a watered heart, like a happy child in a cool
clear pond.
My bumbling, human heart sometimes does tell me a little
about God’s honest, purposeful heart.
Today it is telling me that the word He gave me a few months ago, when I
asked Him what He wanted me to do, was very real: “Receive.” He wants us to receive. And what we’re receiving is His love.
“Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore
with lovingkindness I have drawn you.”
(Jeremiah 31)
One thing I’ve noticed about receiving—it’s a constant,
because not only does it take willingness, it takes time. In the late spring I planted all the
pots with seedling flowers and nutritious soil. They’ve been watered daily, deadheaded, and generally
nurtured. But only now, two months
later, have the plants burst out into three or four times their original size,
with prolific blooms and cascading greenery. Though everything was there for them from the beginning,
their receptivity needed to be exercised over time before it resulted in the
bower their little bodies have now become.
Practicing receptivity is more than important. A lot of people will never notice what is at their fingertips. The reasons are varied—feelings of
worthlessness, disbelief that something so good could be true, focus on self with
no real knowledge of how they’re designed to thrive. And some get distracted earlier in life than I have been, by
the actualization of having received a particular thing. Intense love—between man and wife,
children and mother—has come to them, and its resulting circumstances and the
maintenance it requires has sometimes dulled them to the actual IT.
This realization encourages me, giving context for my own
little life dramas. What looks
like delay and dryness to myself and others—my long wait to receive certain of
God’s gifts—in brief moments of clarity shows itself to my soul for what it
really is, a chance for undistracted receiving. I’ve had time to soak Him in and become a full, blooming
plant. But I don’t hold my
circumstances up as particularly better or more conducive than anyone
else’s. Acts 17 says He chose the
times and boundaries (life circumstances and locations) that would give us the
best chance at seeking Him, feeling for Him, and finding Him. I believe this is played out on an
individual basis, and the same strange (often unwanted) gift that singleness
has been to me, early marriage might be to another.
In the end, as we learn that there is such a great love, and
that we are supposed to receive it
freely, we move into the second half of that revelation that banishes
loneliness. We discover the second
commandment. Our job in the world,
as alive beings and beloved of the King, is not just to wait for and revel in
the final love, and have a little something here on earth to tide us over until
then—but to create love…swim in it,
rejoice in it, call it forth; to expand
love...its experience, its expression, its extent in those around us; to receive love…revel in it, celebrate it,
watch for it. Be love.
I easily see the struggle side of things, the giving up, the
sacrifice, the beautiful laying down of self even when the enemies take that
love and despise it. I see how all
this clarifies and purifies the soul until it is like crystal, transparent and
pure and brilliant all the way through.
This is because, for some reason, my soul understands sorrow and God has
shown me the truth that is found in the Man of Sorrows. But that is only a fraction of the
story—just as the cross was only one day, and the struggle is only seven
millennia, but the unending peace will be years reaching beyond the eternal trillions
humans can conceive of measuring. What a small, short birth-pang our world and our hearts are
enduring. And then comes only
love. Right now, in the middle of
it, three things are most important:
faith, hope, and love. The
greatest? Love.
Receive it today - you just might distract God...and something tells me He loves that kind of distraction!
p.s. Lest you
think my house is a palace—it’s not.
It’s a simple, small, quiet place, whose beauty and rest are only perceived
by a heart that is looking for and receptive to those things. Designers and spa-goers alike would
rightly overlook it. Far-off
freeway noise actually wafts through the windows along with the breeze!
