Lilley of the field

I miss writing more often here. But there are those times, those seasons when words just don't come. I wish they would- but they're not. Instead, the few I have are etched into the pages of my personal prayer journal lifted up to a God who hears every word spoken and not spoken. When words just don't come it gives space. Wide-open-green-pasture-wildflower-growin' kinda space- the kind of space I could probably use more of. Words don't change lives, the God of the universe changes lives. The Word who became flesh changes lives. My emptiness gives him space to fill with His glory and praise. My emptiness and lack of words gives him space to speak tenderly and softly to me and for my ears to actually hear Him. My emptiness hums quietly with a tune only the Spirit knows. I guess I'll just have to embrace it when words just don't come. When words just don't come, it gives time. Watchin'-the-sun-set-while-sittin'-on-the-front-porch-sippin'-...

I'm not really sure what heaven will be like, but it may look like people of all ages- babies, toddlers, moms, dads, college students, grandmas, and more- gathered around singing praise. It may look more like that worship night we just had that seemed more chaotic than normal simply because there were children. Children. The ones whom Jesus said the kingdom belongs to. Heaven may look like the delight on a grandmother's face as she hold her grandchild close to her heart or the student with their arms lifted high or the mom dancing in the corner or the little boy playing the tambourine off beat. It may look like eyes closed in reverent grace or eyes wide in wild embrace. Of a king who loves to hear his children clap there hands, lift their gaze, and worship unhindered. It's good to worship with children. It's good to laugh at being off beat. It's good to look around at your neighbors while you sing. It's good to not take yourself so seriously sometimes. I...