The coffee steams beside me, the silence is mine, the words flow.
I have always loved rising before the rest of the world.
By “world” I really mean my family--my world. The ones safely enclosed with me inside these walls. Here is where safety and belonging and home and Mine live. Here, also, is where every choice within these walls—good or bad, beautiful or messed up—threads in some way back to me.
It always feels like cheating to wander out of my bedroom into the silent, dark house before the others. The coffee steams beside me, the silence is mine, the words flow. Whether it’s burden or peace or pain I awake with, the words pour forth, my fingers flying on my keyboard, a confession of longing and need.
It’s always a holy moment, a tryst with my First Love. But in the Christmas season, once the lights are on the tree? Somehow the peace and the calling and beauty are more palpable, and I savor more deeply the luxury of the silent morning, holy morning.
So what happens in these uncharted minutes? While it’s ever-changing, my quiet minutes with Jesus generally include several consistent elements:
Pouring out.
Write this one on my tombstone, because it’s a scriptural invitation that is life-giving to me:
Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us. Psalm 62:8
I love that the Psalmist didn’t say “tell God” or “list your grievances” or “say this prayer.” Instead he says “pour out.” And, Honey, I pour!
Out it comes—what I’m feeling, what’s haunted me in the middle of the night, what worries me, what’s making me glow or daydream or feel confused or utterly inadequate. I dig deep, no stone unturned, and I name whatever is true about me. Speaking truth and giving it a name can be glorious or anguishing. But truth is also the start of healing. It’s the beginning of confession, of supplication, of worship. And all of these can mend what’s broken.
So I pour out.
Drinking in.
A one-sided conversation doesn’t get you very far. I pour out, but I also need to drink in.
It’s true that God speaks quietly in our hearts through his Spirit. But it’s also possible for me to sign God’s name to my own thoughts. So just as I’ve named what is true about me, I now want to drink in what is true about God, from his very own, objective words: the Bible.
I always have a reading plan, and usually (not always) that’s where I begin. Some days that Scripture is a waterfall of wonder that meets my exact need and quenches my thirst. Other days God’s Word is a steady drip, drip, drip of truth, slowly and faithfully building a consciousness of who God is, what he loves, how he wants me to live. I’m building a firm foundation of knowledge. That’s what doctrine is—“the body of principles in a branch of knowledge or system of belief.” God’s Word, not my own musings, builds doctrine.
But my own musings have a place, too. Here’s where that fits in.
Imagining.
While God’s Word is fixed, certain, and true, my imagination is a wild and unpredictable pony! So one definitely deserves more trust than the other. But stopping to engage with the narrative of Scripture makes it come alive, makes it mine, and helps me to see truths I would otherwise miss.
What would it have been like to be right there in the story? Which character do I relate most to? What clues does the context provide to what was on Christ’s mind? What tone of voice do I imagine him using? How might we say that same thing in today’s language? What happened just before this? Is there an ongoing theme here? Why do these words keep repeating?
The questions pour out, and draw my attention to details easily missed in a quick read.
Sometimes I rewrite the passage as if it were a screenplay. What would this scene look like? Did Jesus roll his eyes when he said that? Just how did that woman sneak through the crowd and touch the hem of his garment?
Sometimes I have more questions than answers, so I write those down, too. I might stop to look for clues right then, or I may be content to leave questions hanging, like cookies I can taste again later. But I ask. I get curious.
Summarizing.
I’m a bullet kind of girl. Not the kind of bullets my husband is into; this kind:
· This is true.
· So is this.
· And this.
Listing some bullet points after my study forces me, again, to name what is true. It’s also a tidy little summary that I can look back on the next day to remind me of where we have been, a bridge to the next day’s passage.
Bang. And bang. And bang. Bullets. A statement of what is true, what God is saying that I need to agree with.
So what?
What’s the point of reading God’s Word?
I want to leave changed. I want to know what God loves; I want to hear his instruction. I want the interior renovation of Messed Up Kathy to keep happening every single day.
So I literally write that heading into my journal— “So what?”
It’s the same way I always ended my Bible stories with my Sunday School kids: “So what?” I would ask. “What difference does this story make? What do you think God wants us to know?”
There are two reasons to know things: 1, to build a body of information, and 2, to be changed. Information, doctrine, is the steady foundation that everything else rests solidly on. Transformation, heart change, comes from action and obedience. So here is where I get real, and write my own action steps.
Learn, do. Learn, do.
James puts it this way:
What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? James 2:14
There is more than one way to approach the living Word of God. I’m not religious about my way; it naturally morphs from day to day, depending upon my needs and the minutes available.
The point is, there is a well of water waiting to refresh your parched soul. Maybe drinking it in begins with you turning on the tree lights, tip-toeing into the silent and holy quiet, and laying your heart out before the Lord.
Be ready for a feast.
For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken. Psalm 62:5-6
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