My excuse has been motherhood. In different chapters of my life, it’s been other things getting in the way. Keeping up with the disciplines of the Christian life is one thing, but what I’m finding more problematic is the capacity to daydream of heavenly things. I guess that’s what meditating really is: getting caught up in wordless worship, longing for Jesus’ hands to cradle my face and see Him look me eye to eye when He returns or calls me home.
In prayer, ministry, Bible study, I feel the need to wrap my head around things and put words to thoughts. That’s well and good; certainly it’s appropriate to process things with careful intention. But how many times does Paul tell believers in early churches to set their minds on things above? Sometimes, instead of processing things in my journal, I think I’m supposed to just get caught up in it. To stand in awe of His radiance, to ache for His return, to sing along with worship music from the 80s with the windows all the way down and the volume all the way up.
God Almighty gently reminds us to “be still and know that [He is] God,” not to “spend 15 minutes journaling before the kids wake up.” Be still. Get caught up. I think I can do that… Shoot, I know I can do that. My connection to my Jesus might not be as formulaic right now as I’d like, but what’s to keep me from bringing my worrisome heart to Him while I drive to the park or brush my teeth? I can even rest in Him – as an act of worship – while nursing my son or folding underwear. Visions of glory while doing the laundry might be all I can manage for now, but I think that’s what I need to get back to.
Though journaling is a great idea, too.