Lord, I wish I could tell you something important this morning, something that sounds significant. And yet, I confess that all I feel within me is nothingness where I wish there were a deep yearning to be with You. Have I so quickly lost the love I had at first?

Your mercies are new and ancient at once. Teach me to seek them. “Abiding” is not a box to check, so let me sit at Your feet, and teach it to me again and again. To be with You is to be content, yet pursuant. No lackadaisical apathy or waning fervor, but true joy in Your presence that motivates me to sing Your praises without pretense.

Come near, Holy Spirit, and touch the spirit within me that has grown small and cold and unattuned to glory. I long to hear Your voice. Stir in me the remembrances of Your faithfulness. Let Your consistency humble me.

Sometimes, Lord, I still act like the prodigal daughter. I still avoid the love in Your eyes, and come running part-way home, only to suddenly become ashamed and recoil from Your embrace, as though Your goodness has an expiration date. But You are no flippant human with merciless indifference toward me. You have called me by name; I am Yours. You have promised not to leave or forsake Your beloved, and beloved is the name You gave me.

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Deuteronomy has never been my favorite book of the Bible. This morning, You moved me to consider the pieces of Your Word I have neglected lately, and so I turned to its first chapter to look for Your presence within its pages: to expect to hear from You through Your Word, because You promise that it will not return to You void. Please, Holy Spirit, break down the walls of the box I have put You in, and “open my eyes to behold wonderful things from Your law.”

The book begins with Moses speaking to Your people, the nation of Israel. They are on the brink of what is Next, after escaping from a slavery of over 400 years, and then being led by Cloud and Fire through their days and nights, constantly relying on your Spirit to guide their next step through the untamed wilderness, and then the next step and the next one after that.

Finally, they are on the edge of what has been promised to them: something so good and beautiful they struggle to believe it is real.

The scouts come back with encouraging news: “It is a good land that the LORD our God is giving us.”

And yet, Israel refuses to go up into the land that was promised to them. “Where are we going?!” their fearful cries echo through the camp.

It sobers me. The truth seems so clear when it’s someone else’s life and not my own:
it is entirely possible for You to give good gifts, and for us, in our mistrust and hubris, to question Your motives.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow,” and yet here I am, like Israel on the edge of the promised land, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Apprehensive and wary of Your plans, I often must be coaxed to step into the next good thing You have for me. But if the evidence of Your sovereignty is scattered through every moment of the desert trek, from the banks of the Red Sea to the summit of Mount Sinai, then who am I to question whether You will steadily prove Your faithfulness in this new season?

The adage, “if it’s too good to be true, it probably is,” is nowhere to be found in Your Word. Yet the cynicism of this fallen, post-modern wilderness has caused me to shy away from Your great grace. My fickle heart longs for Your blessing, but only on my terms. “Do it this way, God,” my unspoken prayer would rise, but never would be vocalized because, out loud, its pride can no longer be disguised.

I return to Your book to see what You say next:

Moses continues to speak, encouraging these weary chosen ones:
“the LORD your God who goes before you
will Himself fight for you,
just as He did for you in Egypt
before your eyes,
and in the wilderness,
where you have seen how the LORD your God carried you,
as a man carries his son,
all the way that you went
until you came to this place”
(Deuteronomy 1:30-31, emphasis mine).

Your tenderness astounds me, Lord. “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me. It is too high; I cannot attain it.” You carry Your people, not only through the sweet and short-lived seasons of their faithfulness to You, but also through every fitful complaint and angry outburst.

Like a toddler fighting against falling sleep, we often come to you anxious and restless, refusing to be comforted. Yet even when we are stubbornly engaged in our best efforts at pushing You away, You calmly pick us up and carry us in Your arms, bringing us to the edge of Your goodness with Your goodness.

You are so patient with us, Father.

Thank You.