Photo Credit: Vernetteoutloud.com
I have a good reason though, promise.
I’ve been working like a mad-woman and my new book, Scattered, is coming out June 1st!!!
I should be able to give a sneak peek of the cover in a few days.
Until then, thought I’d share this re-post.
God’s been quiet lately.
And the human-ness in me wants to hear him speak personally again.
But the truth is, he’s been quietly waiting. . .
for my return to intimacy.
And can I just say, sometimes, it seems so strange to use the word intimacy when talking about loving an invisible God.
But there may be no other word that quite describes the vulnerability and trust in an invisible relationship.
It is being completely bare before him and if you thought changing in a private dressing room was bad, this can feel ten times worse.
And not in a horrible, awkward, does this mirror make me look fat kind of way, but in an awareness of how lacking we are.
Which now, that I think about it, might be about the same thing. . . I’ll get back to you on that one.
But still, we ache for intimacy.
We ache because it’s terrifying and electric to the part of us that confined to being human.
And I think, we ache because we don’t know how to get back to that secret place of intimacy.
But I think I’ve found the secret.
It’s taking the time to see and being willing to be seen.
I just read tonight that there is a phrase in South Africa, which means “I see you”.
Sawubona.
We would say, “hello”.
I’ve found myself developing this habit over the years, after a lull in my relationship with God. . . and let’s face it, they tend to happen in any relationship.
But after I’ve been searching for him and have finally found myself surrounded and enveloped in his presence again, I find myself whispering, “hi” and I can see him smiling at me. It’s this thing that he and I have.
Which means, I’m probably South African.
Sawubona.
Being seen.
It’s powerful.
It catches you up and carries you, when nothing else can or will.
God, investigate my life;
get all the facts firsthand.
I’m an open book to you;
even from a distance, you know what I’m thinking.
You know when I leave and when I get back;
I’m never out of your sight.
You know everything I’m going to say
before I start the first sentence.
I look behind me and you’re there,
then up ahead and you’re there, too—
your reassuring presence, coming and going.
This is too much, too wonderful—
I can’t take it all in!
Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit?
to be out of your sight?
If I climb to the sky, you’re there!
If I go underground, you’re there!
If I flew on morning’s wings
to the far western horizon,
You’d find me in a minute—
you’re already there waiting!
Then I said to myself, “Oh, he even sees me in the dark!
At night I’m immersed in the light!”
It’s a fact: darkness isn’t dark to you;
night and day, darkness and light, they’re all the same to you.
Psalm 139:1-12 (The Message)
He’s waiting for your return and mine.
For us to return to those secret places with him.
Sawubona.
He sees you.
He knows right where you are.
And he’s waiting for your return to those secret places that only you and he know about.
Those sunset walks, private jokes, cups of coffee and quiet moments.
Sawubona.
joyce ackermann 