While We are Sleeping.

I've noticed one near-universal rule within American churches: Get the congregation out on time. I hear half-jokes by harried pastors as they carefully arrange their watch beside their sermon notes. I watch worship leaders coordinate songs in precise measurement--not too many, not too few, with just the right amount of repetitions--verse-chorus-verse-chorus-chorus-bridge. But no more than that--people have dinner to eat, movies to see, jobs to work, lives to get back to. It breaks my heart.

In the Old Testament, we see a group of people who responded quite differently to their opportunity to enter God's throne-room.

"The Israelites gathered together, fasting and wearing sackcloth and having dust on their heads. Those of Israelite descent had separated themselves from all foreigners. They stood in their places and confessed their sins and the wickedness of their fathers. They stood where they were and read from the Book of the Law of the LORD their God for a quarter of the day, and spent another quarter in confession and in worshiping the LORD their God," (Nehemiah 9:1-3).

A quarter of the day. That's six hours--not sitting in cushion pews, but standing. Six hours reading the Word, six hours in confession and worship. And we get antsy if the Sunday sermon goes over an hour? Rushing through the service, cutting of the Holy Spirit and checking our cell phones to ensure we're not late for lunch?

Meanwhile, we blame the unbelievers for America's spiral into depravity. We forget, it's not they who have the power to quench the Spirit--it's us. And we do it so well.

Yet even now, Jesus pleads with us: Can you not keep watch with me for one hour?

Dear ones. This is the turning of the tide. The moment of dark that will lead to the dawn. The hour grows late, and our oil burns low. Will we so easily succumb to the heaviness of our eyelids? Will we so quickly give in to our selfish impulses? Will we so nonchalantly stifle the Spirit that is our only hope of rescue?

And even now, Jesus speaks: When I come, will I find faith upon the earth?

A Shepherd's Heart.

As in introvert ministering in the midst of the many members of the Body of Christ, it hasn't taken me long to discover: my strength is easily exhausted.

Quiet time alone with God has been my solace. My source of refocus and replenishment. And I know it is good, I know it is right--after all, Jesus Himself, regardless of the length of His days, was constantly rising with the muffled glow of dawn or kneeling in shadowed starlight to catch a moment alone with His Father.

So at first, I felt justified in my annoyance whenever my quiet time was interrupted. Random family members entering my room, texts demanding to be answered. I was vaguely guilty about the anger that rose up, as it seemed out of place when mere seconds before I had been resting in God's peace. But I simply wanted the world, in these moments, to leave me be--was that too much to ask? I needed this.

The true nature of my selfishness, however, was brought sharply to mind when God reminded me of His Son. Jesus, too, was often thwarted in His attempts to get away from the crowd. The same scenario happens over and over, and He always reacts the same way. Here's one example:

Because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, [Jesus] said to [the disciples], "Come with Me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest."

So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place. But many who saw them leaving recognized them and ran on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, He had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things. (Mark 6:31-34)

Jesus didn't respond in frustration or irritation when His time of rest was interrupted. He responded in love. His empty stomach, His weary eyes, were not enough to overcome His compassion for the people. In the middle of what was most certainly utter exhaustion, Jesus continued to serve, with a heart that dismissed its own needs without a second thought.

(And yes, after another full day of ministering to the people, Jesus still took time to be alone with the Father (Mark 6:46)--even when His body ached for sleep, He knew that filling His Spirit in God's Presence was by far more important.)

I pray for such a heart. A heart that obeys the Spirit instead of the flesh. A heart that looks to others, always to others, before itself. Dear Jesus, give us such a heart.

Diary of an Addict.

When I don't get my fix, the withdrawal symptoms come quick: irritability, depression, anxiety. Lashing out at the slightest provocation. Gobbling heads clean off. My body collapsing in on itself with weariness. The cells of my being screaming in frenzied chorus, Give it to me. Give it to me now.

My addiction began in middle school, out of a sense of duty more than anything else. A few minutes of "quiet time" with God in the morning (or whenever I got around to it). Being a Christian who opened her Bible more than once a week helped assuage the guilt brought on from the statistics spouted by pastors near and far of their negligent flocks.

At the time, I didn't realize how utterly it would hook me. Ruin me forever with this obsession--this hunger that could only be satisfied with heavenly bread, this thirst that could only be quenched with living water, this fire that would burn, burn, burn and crumble my heart to ash, spin my soul in gold.

But it's too late now. This craving will not be denied, and with every taste, I long for more. My moments in God's Presence are no longer an obligation; they are necessity. When I miss a day with Him, my whole world falls into shadow. There is no substitute--no patch I can slap on my arm, no placebo to trick the body into believing in a wellness apart from Him. I live in a constant state of dependency and desperation. And in all my life, I have never known anything more beautiful.

My name is Beloved, and this drug will run through my veins forever.