O Lord, God of hosts, hear my prayer. Give ear, O God of Jacob! Behold our shield, O God. Look on the face of Your anointed! For a day in Your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness. (Verses 8-10)
But You, O God, are a shield about me, my glory and the lifter of my head. Psalm 3
Have you ever had lunch with a friend, thinking it was going to be a nice time together, and the friend, instead, has invited you to eat while they told you off? This has happened to me more than once. Clearly I need to be told off too often, but please don't make me pay for lunch while you do it! I reference these times in order to describe what I did afterward. I ran home (or drove) feeling I would burst if I didn't get on the floor, face down, with my God. It was to Him I wanted to flee in order to find clarity and peace. There was the night a trusted employee and friend of the family railed against me for a couple of hours on the phone while Bill sat beside, listening, saying: "Hang up, Kay. That's enough." The call became such a personal vendetta against me that my heart was literally fractured. I was up all night with Christian music blaring in my earphones as I sought my God for what I was to keep of what was said and what I should throw out. I had been wrong and apologized. That was clear. But I'd been unaware of all the other person had stored up against me in terms of perceived offenses. Only God could clear up the mess left in the wake of the conversation. I only wanted Him. To be in His courts. Shamed and unsure of what was truth and what wasn't, I needed to be in my Father's house more than life. Couldn't lift my head to look at Him because of the burden of guilt heaped upon me in the conversation. In the wee hours of the morning, it seemed the Lord put His hand under my chin and lifted my face to look at Him. Yes, I'd been wrong. Asked forgiveness. But what lay past that was His to judge. No one else could've brought me to peace in such a way. I love my God.
Beauty has driven me there, too--to His house. A heart so thankful it bursts. When all I want to do is jump up and down with the joy of the moment. Like when I found out I was pregnant (all three times), or when jobs came through, or illness was healed, or when God did some unexpected and always undeserved miracle like sending a check in the mail. I remember the night I saw "The Passion" the first time. I was with friends who wanted to go out to eat afterward while my heart was bursting to go home and be alone, in His courts, and just overflow with thanksgiving for the death and resurrection of Christ that gained me entrance in the first place. Jesus was waiting for me in my room that night as I sat in silent reverence, just loving Him.There is no high that compares to the presence of Jesus in a room. I remember leading a young woman to Jesus several years ago, and her response still rings in my ears. "That was quite a rush!" Indeed.
That I could go into the house of the Father, lift my face to Him and talk for awhile is a miracle. I sat the other night for a few minutes in a comedy club where the talk was sexually grotesque and low. My friend and I left, of course, but it dawns on me as I write this that most in the crowd have no idea what it's like to be with God. If they did, they couldn't endure what they were hearing at the restaurant. That isn't a judgment on them. They just don't know. To be one moment in His presence is better than to be anywhere else. To be a servant in His house better than to be king in a place where He is not. The miracle is this. God has provided access to Himself. I don't deserve to be before the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, to spill my guts or spew my praise. I get to go there because He wants to see the face of His anointed, me. Because it is His joy to lift my head and speak truth to my heart and mind. The miracle is I am His child, chosen before the foundations of the world (Ephesians 1) to be His. And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Psalm 23)!
But You, O God, are a shield about me, my glory and the lifter of my head. Psalm 3
Have you ever had lunch with a friend, thinking it was going to be a nice time together, and the friend, instead, has invited you to eat while they told you off? This has happened to me more than once. Clearly I need to be told off too often, but please don't make me pay for lunch while you do it! I reference these times in order to describe what I did afterward. I ran home (or drove) feeling I would burst if I didn't get on the floor, face down, with my God. It was to Him I wanted to flee in order to find clarity and peace. There was the night a trusted employee and friend of the family railed against me for a couple of hours on the phone while Bill sat beside, listening, saying: "Hang up, Kay. That's enough." The call became such a personal vendetta against me that my heart was literally fractured. I was up all night with Christian music blaring in my earphones as I sought my God for what I was to keep of what was said and what I should throw out. I had been wrong and apologized. That was clear. But I'd been unaware of all the other person had stored up against me in terms of perceived offenses. Only God could clear up the mess left in the wake of the conversation. I only wanted Him. To be in His courts. Shamed and unsure of what was truth and what wasn't, I needed to be in my Father's house more than life. Couldn't lift my head to look at Him because of the burden of guilt heaped upon me in the conversation. In the wee hours of the morning, it seemed the Lord put His hand under my chin and lifted my face to look at Him. Yes, I'd been wrong. Asked forgiveness. But what lay past that was His to judge. No one else could've brought me to peace in such a way. I love my God.
Beauty has driven me there, too--to His house. A heart so thankful it bursts. When all I want to do is jump up and down with the joy of the moment. Like when I found out I was pregnant (all three times), or when jobs came through, or illness was healed, or when God did some unexpected and always undeserved miracle like sending a check in the mail. I remember the night I saw "The Passion" the first time. I was with friends who wanted to go out to eat afterward while my heart was bursting to go home and be alone, in His courts, and just overflow with thanksgiving for the death and resurrection of Christ that gained me entrance in the first place. Jesus was waiting for me in my room that night as I sat in silent reverence, just loving Him.There is no high that compares to the presence of Jesus in a room. I remember leading a young woman to Jesus several years ago, and her response still rings in my ears. "That was quite a rush!" Indeed.
That I could go into the house of the Father, lift my face to Him and talk for awhile is a miracle. I sat the other night for a few minutes in a comedy club where the talk was sexually grotesque and low. My friend and I left, of course, but it dawns on me as I write this that most in the crowd have no idea what it's like to be with God. If they did, they couldn't endure what they were hearing at the restaurant. That isn't a judgment on them. They just don't know. To be one moment in His presence is better than to be anywhere else. To be a servant in His house better than to be king in a place where He is not. The miracle is this. God has provided access to Himself. I don't deserve to be before the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, to spill my guts or spew my praise. I get to go there because He wants to see the face of His anointed, me. Because it is His joy to lift my head and speak truth to my heart and mind. The miracle is I am His child, chosen before the foundations of the world (Ephesians 1) to be His. And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Psalm 23)!
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