On Sunday during church while Kenny was worshipping up in front with a banjo, his adorable children kept running up to him throughout the service and whispering in his ear. Still playing, he bent his body down in order to hear their Children Secrets (anyone who has ever taken care of a child knows about this lovely and often absurd phenomenon). As I witnessed the sweet scene and thought about their boldness that allowed them to run up in front of everyone without a hint of self-conciousness, it occurred to me that perhaps worship could be like that for all of us.
Yes, the Lord is holy, a King who reigns forever in splendor and majesty in the heavenly realms. But we are not forgotten subjects, trying to shout our songs and supplications loud enough to be heard by some remote kingdom on the outer edges of an unfeeling universe. We are children of God! And He is our Father who bends close to us and inclines His ear to all our longings whether lovely, absurd, selfish, or wise. Kenny’s kids did not run boldly because they earned the right to this intimacy but because they were so confident in their status as beloved children. Of course, my dad wants to hear what I have to say!
In one of those wonderful paradoxes, God invites us to draw near though we can draw no nearer than He already is. He is closer than our breath, our own skin, our thoughts. It is our senses that our blind, deaf, numbed to His Presence. Sometimes I pull my shirt collar up to my forehead and create a tiny little temple inside my shirt. I close my eyes and whisper a prayer as quietly as I possibly can. (I am aware I am a little weird, but you should try it!) I am not sure why, but it scares me a bit to think He can hear me, which might be silly considering I believe He knows every thought or inkling of my heart. But when I meditate on His closeness and the level of intimacy that He wants to share with me, it's frightening. And rightfully so; it is all-demanding. I’m pretty sure it involves dying and not the easy kind. But it also involves delights that we cannot possibly imagine.
So go ahead, run boldly to the Throne of Grace and to the Father of All Compassion. Maybe, just maybe, He will set down His banjo and put you on His knee, give you a tambourine and let you join in. All I’m saying is I’ve seen it happen.