God has not spoken to me much the past few days, and I hate it.
I was depressed yesterday and could not bear the thought of praying. I have recognized that tendency in myself before. Instead of pleading for his presence, I withdraw. There could hardly be a more foolish response. I do not watch much TV, but I sat down last night with my love and we watched “America’s Next Top Model” and “American Idol” together. One of the wannabe models was released because she just didn’t have passion. Bo was low in the Idol vote count, and I was disappointed that he was too cool to care. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized that I am having the same problem.
I realized this morning that it is not primarily His guidance I miss, but His presence. His word promises that He will give guidance, and He has been faithful to do so. God rarely gives instructions in a time and manner of my choosing, but, in retrospect, His timing is always perfect. Jesus is my Lord, and he directs my steps, but it is my friend Jesus that I miss. I miss His warmth, His comfort, His whispered “peace, be still”, and His occasional “Rock on Brother!” The sad thing is that I miss it only because I have failed to ask for it.
We value most those things we have lacked. For the family who has lost a child, the promise that “No longer will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days” rings loudly. Of the promises in Isaiah 65, one is dearest to my heart: “It will also come to pass that before they call, I will answer, and while they are still speaking, I will hear.” The Lord has taught me to thirst for Him. When I stop thirsting, He is kind enough to withdraw His presence until I draw near to Him again with my heart.
God has not spoken to me much the past few days, and it has been a blessing.
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