The Inner Sanctum

Music from the Heart: Sarabande by George Frideric Handel

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. For six days He engaged in the most unfathomable expression of creative power that ever existed. From galaxies to grasshoppers, He designed the universe in intricate detail. Then, on the seventh day, He rested.

Well, I'm not one to mess with a good thing, so in the spirit of following His example (not to mention His instruction) of a day of rest, I typically indulge in a Sunday afternoon nap. It's been said that Sunday afternoon naps are the best sleep you get all week. I can't argue with that.

And so it was that today after lunch I made my way to the bedroom to engage in a little Sunday slumber. There is something about walking into my bedroom that makes the rest of the world seem to slip into the background. It's like stepping through that threshold causes both body and spirit to let out a deep sigh of relief.

It's summertime, and in our part of the country, that means air-conditioners and fans. In our home, that means some combination thereof produces just the right mix of cool, conditioned air blowing across the bed. Following my usual routine, I laid down, picked up a book from the nightstand and began to read. After only a few pages, the steady hum of the box fan blended with the rhythmic spinning of the ceiling fan to produce a lullaby I could not resist.

The book slips out of my hands onto the bed, and I am out.

Why am I telling you this? Here's why. To me, my bedroom is like a sanctuary, an inner sanctum where I can escape from distractions and worries and chores and to-do-lists. It is to me a place of rest and peace that is to be guarded and protected. There is no television and no phone, and when I lay down for my special Sunday afternoon rest, I typically leave the cell phone in the other room. I don't want this time to be disturbed.

I don't invite just anyone into my bedroom. When you come to my house, you will be greeted and welcomed into the "family" areas of the home, and you might be shown the bedroom as part of the "grand tour" if you have never been here before. But if you are invited into my bedroom to linger and talk, then you are on a short list of close and personal friends with whom I am comfortable sharing this sacred place.

The dictionary defines a sanctum like this: a sacred or holy place, an inviolably private place or retreat.

Just like my bedroom is a private and personal place in my home, there is also an inner sanctum within my heart - a place where only I and One other are allowed to go - a place that is to be guarded and protected. It is a secret place where He and I meet, and where He expresses His heart to me and I bare my heart and my soul to Him.

What's in your inner sanctum? Is it a place of rest and peace? Is it free from distractions and clutter? How often do you go there? Do you go alone or do you frequently invite Him to meet you there?

I encourage you to spend as much time there as possible. Time spent in the inner sanctum, the holy place with Him, is time well spent, and it is vital to the furtherance of His kingdom, both in you and through you.

"I am the vine; you are the branches.
If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit;
apart from me you can do nothing."
John 15:5

The Heartbeat of God

It's late at night, and the house is quiet. Well, nearly quiet. The only sounds are the whirring of the ceiling fan, the clicking of the computer keys, and in the background, the soft strains of gentle, meditative worship music.

There is a deep longing in my heart tonight as I have come to this quiet place at His feet once again. It is not uncommon for my time with Him to be marked with tears, and tonight is no exception. They are tears of surrender as I lay my dreams before Him, trusting them to Him yet again. There are deep desires in my heart that long for fulfillment so desperately that the longing itself is almost painful.

It seems that my biggest struggle is that I keep trying to cause my dreams to be fulfilled in my own wisdom and strength. I know better, but I still work tirelessly to accomplish what He has already promised He would accomplish in and through me. Why can't I stop?

His voice whispers to me, "Do you trust Me?"

My heart replies, "I want to."

He pulls me close to Him. My head is buried in His chest as sobs overtake me and I exhale for the first time in what seems like months.

"What do you hear?" He asks. I listen closely for His heartbeat. I am not prepared for what I hear.

With a slow and steady rhythm, the beating of His heart begins to grow louder and louder in my ears.

"I love you - I love you - I love you," it says.

I am left speechless in His arms. The insistent reassurance of this simple truth is enough. He loves me. Really loves me. His heart literally beats with His love for me.

Nothing else matters.

I have found a place in His heart that is reserved only for me. It has my name on it. From eternity past to the infinite days of forever that lie ahead, no other person has ever or will ever hold this place in His heart. It is mine, and mine alone.

This is what it means to dwell in Him. I never want to leave this place. It is my safety, my refuge, my secret place. This is where I can be myself more than anywhere else. This is where there is no judgment, only joy - no ridicule, only release. This is where the green pastures meet the quiet waters. This is home. This is where I belong.

Selah.

"Call to me and I will answer you
and tell you great and unsearchable things
you do not know."
Jeremiah 33:3

He Is Faithful

Music from the Heart: Faithful To The End by Hillsongs

I am often overwhelmed by the goodness and faithfulness of God. When I stop and take account of even some of the countless ways He has proven Himself faithful to me again and again, I cannot help but respond with the tearful silence of a grateful heart that is humbled by His love.

I was in a conversation this week with a co-worker, and I found myself sharing a story from my past with her. It is one of my most precious memories of the darkest, most gut-wrenching time of my life. In the spirit of freedom that comes from genuine forgiveness, I will not share the details here. But the long and short of it is this:

My heart was broken. Everything inside me wanted to run away and hide, but my need to connect with a safe place to heal was more desperate than the intensity of my shame and pain. It was a Sunday morning, and I got in my car, not knowing where to go, but knowing I needed to be in church somewhere. I found myself in front of a church whose pastor I had known since high school and where I had attended several years earlier.

I waited until the service was well underway so I could slip in with as little notice as possible. I did not want to talk to anyone or answer any questions about what was going on in my life that had turned my world upside down. I just wanted to sit and soak in the worship and maybe the message. I literally sat in the last seat of the last row nearest the door and had every intention of making a beeline for the door as soon as the service was over. I told the Lord that if He wanted me to talk with the pastor, then to have him come to me.

As soon as the service was over, the pastor was standing in front of me before I could make my planned exit. He asked me two questions. First, he asked me how I was doing. I lowered my head to hide the tears welling up in my eyes, despite my best effort to keep them at bay. He asked one more question (more direct) and quickly discerned the source of my pain by my wordless response. He then took me in his arms and held me as I cried on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he said.

So here it is, twelve years later, and I still cannot recount this story without tears. But now my tears are not because of the pain in my heart, because that has been healed. The tears that accompany this story now are the natural response of an overwhelmed, formerly broken heart to the sweet grace and limitless love of a personal God who gave me what I needed when I needed it. When I felt like I was literally going under, He threw me a lifeline in the discerning eye and fatherly embrace of a pastor who had recently lost his youngest child (a daughter, age 10) to cancer. That was the moment my healing began.

Over the years I have lost count of the times when I have been able to speak into the hurting hearts of broken women with the compassion and wisdom that only come from having walked the path they now find themselves on. It is the faithfulness of God to be true to His character and His word that carried me through a long and deep healing process. When I felt most alone and my days were the darkest, I kept returning to the knowledge that He loves me and He is faithful. He has proven it to me again and again.

And He will do the same for you.

Not to us, O LORD, not to us but to your name be the glory,
because of your love and faithfulness.
Psalm 115:1

Where Jesus Had Church

Music from the Heart: The Heart of Worship by Matt Redman

Courtesy of an unusually crazy schedule the last few weeks, David and I have been missing each other like two ships passing in the night. So with today (Sunday) being the only day in several and in the foreseeable future that we were not going in separate directions, we decided to play hooky from church and invest in a little family time.

After going out for breakfast, he went to run an errand, then met me at the dog park, where I had already taken Sheba. While I was waiting for him, I found myself sitting on a bench under a shade tree by the pond. Sheba was happily playing in the water. I was savoring a few quiet moments with little more than the sound of the morning breeze dancing through the trees and the sloshing sound of Sheba moving through the water. That, and of course, the occasional roaring of a C-130 flying overhead as the boys at the nearby Air National Guard base ran Sunday morning flight maneuvers.

In between passing transport planes, I did manage to capture a few quiet moments to take in my surroundings. As I sat underneath huge shade trees and looked around at acres of an open, sloping, grassy field, one thought immediately came to my mind:

"This is the kind of place where Jesus had church."

Now, I enjoy a padded chair and air-conditioning as much as the next guy. But as I sat there imagining groups of people gathered together under a tree or along the banks of a river, listening to the gentle, strong voice of Jesus Himself, I could not help but long to have been there even for a moment, to witness first-hand these earliest days of New Testament gatherings.

I could just picture it: mothers holding babies in their laps and trying to keep small children occupied and quiet so they could hear Him; older kids and teens sitting close to their friends on the grass; men, some sitting with their families, others standing close by around the perimeter, keeping a protective eye on their loved ones; curious passersby pausing to listen to the life-transforming words before being on their way.

I've participated in outdoor worship gatherings, services, & prayer meetings, and I have to say that as a general rule, I prefer them over the confinement of the carpeted, padded-chaired, air-conditioned, mood lit four walls we call church - any day of the week. Yes, it gets hot out there (wear light clothing and bring a water bottle) and yes, you might have to sit on the ground or a hard concrete bench or at a splintered picnic table (or stand) and no, there is not a cry room or a nursery, or a bathroom with fruit-scented liquid soap, but there is something about the no walls, sky-is-the-ceiling, worshiping the God of creation surrounded by His creation experience that causes every other typical Sunday morning American church service to pale in comparison.

Jesus was a simple man. He lived a simple life. He set a simple example for us to follow: Love God, love others. Everything else is just stuff. But that's a message for another time.

"For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom ..."
1 Corinthians 1:25