On the Fifth Morning

The morning started out terrible. I made a different spinach smoothie than I normally make…which didn’t go over very well with the children. So there was complaining and pouting and slow sipping….which didn’t go over very well with me. As I scrambled eggs, the children scrambled to take specks out of each other’s eyes, completely blind to the plank they had each brought with them to the breakfast table. The bickering escalated, and the louder they got, the louder I got.

Before I share what happened next…don’t worry, all five children are still alive and well…I want to first say what a great week we had had up until then. You might expect the week after vacation to be frustrating and cumbersome, especially if that week happens to be the first week of school. We went from sun and ocean to books and pencils so fast we barely had time to clean the sand out from between our toes.

But everyone quickly embraced the expectations we discussed as we drove through the West Virginia mountains. New wake times, new ipod rules, new rhythms, new bed times. The most significant change we made was beginning each day with a time of worship. In our seeking to be more like Jesus, we {or I} decided to offer to God a portion of our day to be wholly his. No rushing, no working, no cleaning, no texting. A sacrificial moment of a day that already belongs to him. So after breakfast we gather together to listen to Hillsong’s To Be Like You. Sometimes we sing along, sometimes we just listen. Then we share a word or lyric that stood out to us. And we read Galatians 2:20 and we talk about who Jesus is, and what a crucified life looks like.

We did this on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. And on the fifth morning, the one that started out terrible, my spirit sensed the stretching and pulling and expanding that comes with new life. Some might give the Enemy credit for these moments of tension and unrest. But not all discomfort is evil. Not all pain is from the Enemy. Though I believe and recognize distinct moments of attack and the presence of evil, those feel different to me than these more common emotional and spiritual fits we find ourselves facing. These are the ones that come from within us. From the parts of us we haven’t surrendered.

We opened up our days and hearts for worship, and it would not leave us empty. For when you welcome the Spirit of God, it will come and consume you. But it doesn’t always feel comforting and soothing. Sometimes it comes with the sting of conviction and revelation, ready to shape you into His likeness. And in these moments sometimes our flesh wants to protect itself, knowing that new life is born in pain. And so our defense mechanisms surface and we resist God’s redemptive activity in us. We fight back. We argue. We complain. We find fault in others. On that fifth morning, I recognized right away the fits of our flesh resisting, but also making room for more Jesus.

That morning could have gone two ways. We could have felt the pressing in and ran in opposite directions in order to avoid it, hoping it would dissolve in time. That always feels safest and easiest in the moment, but it never fruits sweet life. Or we could have come together with our sharp tongues and offered the moment to God to bring about something good, something new. We don’t always choose the latter option, but thankfully on this Friday morning we did. Like a mother hen, I gathered my little chicks into the safety of His wings. And we worshipped. Jesus, Jesus, all I want is to be like you.

Their furrowed eyebrows and folded arms told me this time was going to be different. So I told them I would play the song over and over again until the words softened our hearts. Even if it was the only thing we did that day. Those sweet lyrics rang in our ears.  Take this life, Lord it’s yours. Have my heart, have it all. No one sang that morning but me and Tessa. We sang the name of Jesus over and over again. Jesus, Jesus, all I want is to be like you. Jesus, Jesus, all I want is to be like you. Then I prayed. Then Tessa prayed, bringing one child to tears of repentance and another to tears of anger. Those collective cries were emotional and spiritual releases that broke the tension of sin that had been hovering over our morning.

The time to start history came and went. The time to start math came and went. The time to make lunch came and went. The time to take Lydia Jane to knitting class came and went. As it turned out worship really was all we did that morning. We talked and prayed and confessed. And one child in particular, opened his heart for us to see a part we had never seen before. There was a victory in our home on that fifth morning. By God’s grace, we turned to Him for help and he faithfully met us in our broken worship.

Worship births new life.  I’m convinced of it now more than ever. Not just our songs. Not just our prayers. But a life, available to God’s Spirit. A willingness to embrace more of him, less of me. This is worship, a sweet melody to the seeker of our souls.