God feels distanced lately. Or maybe it’s just me. I expect to find Him shuffling around the passages in my a devotional, or situated front-and-center when I’m listening to a pastor or a mentor. I look for Him when I wake up in the morning feeling drowsy, and I lie awake at night scrambling for words to establish somewhere and somehow to relay what I want. I don’t. See Him, find Him, feel, or hear Him. I haven’t been saying anything.

That’s the question I’m echoing from the rooftop tonight: “What do you do when you don’t know where your God is?” What happens when you ask, but there’s no answer? What moves do you take when you’ve spent all your efforts, and you now find yourself sitting and staring up and around a room filled with only your declarations, requests, inquiries, cries?

Make yourself comfortable. Pick up your efforts and welcome them back into your arms. Sort through them. Decide which ones were selfish, which ones were desperate, which ones were inauthentic or asking of one thing but truly needing another.

It’s hard for me to understand the Lord’s trust in little ‘ol me. I forget how much he believes in me, how loud He’s cheering me on, how deeply he knows and adores me. Why is it so difficult to fathom how divine we are? Because we don’t believe it. Maybe. We don’t see it. We can’t touch it, smell it, taste it, hear it. I see cracks in my exterior and I mostly hear senseless, distracting noise.

I never get an inkling of “divine” while I’m going along about my day. I’ve never stopped dead in my tracks while searching for gluten free brownie mix and thought, I am a divine freaking creation.

I think we should.

We should do just that. Stop fidgeting with how you’re going to find or see or settle a deal with God, and start believing He’s already in the room with you, studying you and your heart as you flounder around your fears, wishing you saw yourself the way He sees you.

I think He wants us to look up from our relentless pursuit every now and again and bask in the truth that he adores our divine, little ‘ol hearts. He created them, after all.



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