I did that thing again. The thing where I get the absurd idea that I can push forwards and figure out this dandy life all on my own. At what point am I going to realize that I’m not strong enough? I mean, I’m great. Sure. Maybe. Maybe not. But either way I’m stinking weak.
Me trying to run around and get things done for the Kingdom of God without actually taking a moment to consult God, is like me trying to build a Lego castle with my hands tied behind my back.
Now that would just be plain embarrassing. I’d have to use my feet.
When the Word of God speaks into my life I imagine God breathing right into me; inhale… exhale… redeemed. Forgiven. Shameless.
It takes time for God to breathe. Resting in his presence is pivotal when you’re trying to do something on His behalf. When I decide to take something He’s given me and run with it before He’s finished talking, or before I get the whole picture, I take God’s precious breaths and splatter them onto the world like a nasty sneeze. And that’s a bad representation of God. God doesn’t sneeze. He breathes.
God has so much to say. People misunderstand this because sometimes they shoot a prayer up to Heaven and don’t hear a reply. So they move on. But He’s talking. And He’s saying the most amazing things, things that could change your life, or your circumstance. Things that could call you into your destiny, or into an adventure.
What would God show you if you simply rested in his presence for twenty minutes? And don’t say you don’t have time. Twenty minutes is nothing. Twenty minutes is the amount of time it takes my husband to make a ham sandwich. Anyone can talk to God for twenty minutes.
Something that I’ve avoided telling the world thus far is that I’ve been writing nonfiction novels since I was fifteen years old. I probably have about thirty novels sitting on my laptop right now that are around 100 pages in Microsoft Word. I do it as a hobby. It was always my way to relax after a rough day at work or at school. Depending on where I was working in the past, sometimes I wrote 4 – 5 novels a month. I’d sit down with a great opening line or a mind boggling concept and in three days I would polish off a whole book, which resulted in a lot of series writing.
This, though fun, has also been a crutch for me. It’s so easy to dive into a place that’s not real and disappear for a while, instead of taking responsibility for the things that God is telling me to do by simply ‘holding off’ on them until I’m ‘ready’. So when I come up for air from my book-universes I take off running with the last thing I can remember that God told me, and get confused as to why it seems like I’m starting to veer off in the wrong direction.
I feel like this could be solved so easily if I just took twenty minutes to have a conversation with Him before I start plowing forwards. But I’m constantly forgetting. I love writing, a little too much, in a borderline-obsessive kind of way. I think that most writers have a story inside of them that’s relentlessly trying to get out at least 83% of the time. And I don’t consider that to be a curse, I consider it to be a gift. But I have to make time for God, I must. Or I’ll stop in the middle of the journey somewhere and realize that I don’t know even know where I am. And those moments are the worst. It makes me restless. I usually turn into a bear.
God breathes. And it’s so refreshing. It’s like sinking into a hot bath with pomegranate scented bubbles.
People spend years and thousands of dollars on things that they think can give them a moment of relief like that; therapy, vacations, spa days, whatever. And that stuff can be fab. But none of it will make a difference if your mind is restless – if you haven’t made things right with God.
Twenty minutes of letting Him breathe into you. Please just try it. It’s free.