Sundays seem so happy, so chattery.
"Greet your neighbor. Stand and sing. Take the hand of the person next to you."
Where can I sit if I really don't have that in me today?
"Perhaps your heart is heavy. Perhaps you're struggling today."
Yes. And yes.
I have always loved to worship alongside my family and friends. There is no greater movement than the outpouring of hearts together, I am convinced. But now everything seems so happy, so loud, so overwhelming.
I stay as long as I can. The discipline is good for my spirit, and I have my six-year-old who sits beside me, watching and learning. In teaching him, I hope my heart will learn anew.
I cry easily in worship. In other seasons, I cried from the spilling fullness of my heart. In earlier months, I cried because I could feel the absence of my life's companion beside me, the silence of his voice singing with mine. Now, if I feel enough to cry at all, I cry because I long for the joy of it all. I once cried because Robb is not here; now I cry because I am not there. I no longer want him back. I want to join him where he is.
I know a new kind of worship, and I find it most inviting when I am quiet and alone with the Alone. When I join the throngs, it all feels so hard to keep up.
This morning, I praise the Lord who does not demand a pace.
I praise the Shepherd who will leave the flock to find the lamb who is lost, the one that cannot keep up.
I praise the Lord who has come to me.
~ ~ ~
As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
My tears have been my food day and night,
while men say to me all day long,
"Where is your God?"
These things I remember as I pour out my soul:
how I used to go with the multitude,
leading the procession to the house of God,
with shouts of joy and thanksgiving
among the festive throng.
Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God.