My dear sisters, welcome in to this space. It is funny to me how we meet each other here: my words on a page, the result of a heart broken open, and you laid bare, desiring to be filled and nourished. And here, where two or three are gathered, the Lord meets us.

I just wanted to share with you, sister. I want to share with you my recent wrestling with thirst. I am thirsting for the Lord, and lately, I have struggled to place that thirst on the throne: the deepest of all desires which ought to be filled first. I have let other things slip into the place of my thirst, and I have allowed my desire for the Lord to take a backseat to the desires of my weary heart.

And I have felt the weight of that, sister. I have felt my parched lips and my achy heart grow stronger, I have felt my soul cry out: Are you going to pay attention to me?

It is oh, so easy, friend. It is so easy to let work and relationships and self-care and school and laziness take the place of the thirsting. It is so easy to let the “balance” of daily life shift slightly so that, while my planner looks balanced, my heart is not aligned properly. It is so easy to slip up and let ourselves be sort of satisfied by the day to day monotony and forget that we were made for glory in the midst of it.

But man, it is also so easy to get discouraged and disheartened and to beat myself up for letting the Lord shift out of his primary place in my life. That’s where the enemy gets me: You’re failing again. You’re letting him go. You’re not surrendering. You’re not holy. You can’t be a saint. You might as well let go and throw in the towel. What’s another day without prayer after you’ve gone a few already?

Lies, lies, lies. I must remind myself of that. The Father speaks to us here: Come and rest. Come and lay your weary head down. Come and eat and drink and receive what I have for you. My mercy is new, my love is abounding, my arms are open.

And the joy of the return: I drink, I rest. I am delighted in. My heart is satisfied and I recall my thirst: it is for Him alone.

I pray this poem I wrote about this wrestling might shed light and call to mind some reflection for you. Your heart is his delight.

Intimate Rest

Oh, it is so familiar to me: 
the build up—a steady inhale.
I keep trying to breathe in, to hold it all. 
I am parched, thirsting for you,
but I don’t drink.
The gentle whisper: Exhale, I am here. 
A slow release, I am held. 
You are here, you are here. 
The familiar presence of your peace

stripping me, consuming me: 
Let go, let go, just let go. 
This is my body, this is my blood, 
for you, all for you. 
As I exhale, you inhale, 
and I crash into you, 
totally undone, totally seen, 
receiving the gift. 
This is the still point 
here in this turning world. 
You and I:  
wholly consumed by the One I consume, 
and in this I rest. 
No longer I,  
but I held by you:
an intimacy too deep for words.

snh