It is ice-cold and frost covered this morning and I feel like I could lay down in that grass and not even cause a melt; feeling so melancholy, so completely quenched of fire. I am sharper, I mock more, I am ready to explode for all the pressure I feel to hop a plane and in my life restlessness and sin always hold hands.
I’m burden heavy, a little busy, a little tired. I’ve been waiting for the days that I could just pause, in quiet and worship and find the way back to the burning hot.
Those moments are far and few between in a mamma life. The sweet moments of sitting long with only words and pen don’t happen with little people, it is rare to complete a thought, hard to even articulate what it would mean if I could read a whole chapter, utter a complete prayer. And yet, Jesus chasers all over the planet, carting water, finding food, those who can’t read a word, are still finding Him.
And suddenly with Psalm 1 on my heart, worship songs ringing in my ears, the laundry pile becomes my church. We must learn how to make each moment our prayer closets, our classrooms our altars, our work sites our places of worship. Perpetually returning our hearts to our Maker, watching them for the signs they are returning home to the wrong places. Returning our moments to the Redeemer, watching for signs that we’ve allowed them to be stolen and destroyed. And when restless rears its head we remember that in actual fact we are restless not for another place on earth, another story here and now, but restless till we find our One True Rest.
Great are you, O Lord, and exceedingly worthy of praise; your power is immense, and your wisdom beyond reckoning. And so we men, who are a due part of your creation, long to praise you – we also carry our mortality about with us, carry the evidence of our sin and with it the proof that you thwart the proud. You arouse us so that praising you may bring us joy, because you have made us and drawn us to yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.-St Augustine