At a.m. and black I craved more spoonfuls of milky sleep drift…cuz sometimes He feeds them to me. Other times he feeds me words and pours out morning oil. This morning was for coffee and oil. After loving the lump (aka Ezra dog) and feeding that cat..I found my spot somewhere at the end of the fourth watch. Through the soul-cry of the psalter I learned about the night watches, how his soul waited for the Lord more than the watchman waits for the morning…and it sang to my soul, and so as most mornings go…I came before His table to watch and to eat words. If I don’t go to that banquet table and drink deeply from sweet wine, allow myself to be kissed by God, inhale His breath…I will starve and try and fill up on Facebook, Twitter, to-do lists…but then I would feel like I so often have when I overeat, I should have stopped, slowed down. Now I’m sick and for some reason I keep pitch forking it in. I’ve learned, this kind of filling up never satisfies. I need real food. I need manna. I need pure milk. I need raisin cakes and apples, the sweet juice of pomegranates. It’s all been set before me. The God who never slumbers nor sleeps prepares it for me before light greets earth.
I’m in a long season of feasting right now. I’m steady. I want to stay steady. But steady won’t stay if I shut my ears to the Shiver-whisper that beckons in the still dark. So I go. I didn’t always go. This self serving, sleep loving girl used to think, I don’t need the banquet, I’m sure I can grab a protein bar. Something power packed in five minutes, on the run, in between checking my phone, peeping into windows of Facebook friends, joining the song of tweets instead of waiting for the song of real feathered worship just outside my window. But somehow, just reading an online devotion in ten minutes, or skimming a psalm, lifting up distracted and interrupted prayers, wouldn’t sustain me. If I didn’t take time to savor what Jesus had prepared for me, to eat choice words and drink sweet wine, to feel and touch and taste and see his goodness and just stay…then I could never be ready for husband and kids and schedules and appointments and ministry and pressing needs. It’s like trying to serve them me without Jesus, and me minus Jesus…ain’t pretty and she sure ain’t sweet. The law of kindness that’s supposed to be on my tongue is more like the law of Trish, harsh, demanding an obedience that reeks of gallows…Trish is both judge and jury and as far as she is concerned your all guilty. But when I’ve slowed down to Jesus pace, filled up on his words that have become the joy and rejoicing of my heart, waited in the garden with Him for more than one hour…then nothing is wasted, I’m no longer anxious. When I wish my young adult kids would just go and make their lives, I am reminded of coffee and oil. He poured it out on me so I could pour it out on them. Cuz that’s what we moms do, we pour and we pour and we pour, but if we don’t let the One who turned five loaves and two fish into enough to feed thousands, feed us….we won’t find any oil at the end of the jar.