Worship by Living Water

When Jesus met with the lady at the well he offered her living water; endless water that refreshes and never leaves you thirsty.  It seems to me that if the bible is the living word, the bread of life, then worship is the wine, the blood of Christ, the awakening of the Holy Spirit that lives inside us when we accept Christ as our savior.  

I have been dwelling on the practice of worship and have achieved some clarity.  First, worship is between me and Jesus.  Worship needs to be authentic and sincere; in order to do that I need to block out all those around me and focus on Christ; expressing my love and appreciation for his gift of sacrifice that set me free.  

I often close my eyes and picture Jesus sitting under a tree in the garden.  I sing directly to him and no one else is around.  Each song speaks to my heart differently and I respond in kind.  Sometime I raise my hands because the song confirms in my heart that it is all about Jesus and I can’t help but acknowledge that it is not about me.  Songs with a strong beat tune into the beat of my heart and I can’t keep my hands still; the drummer in me creates a beat to match on the table, chair, or pew in front of me.  There are times when the day or week has been especially challenging and I find a wall and sit on the floor or a chair or couch and curl-up in the lap of Jesus like a child and just listen to the music and the words and I allow Jesus to soothe my soul.   There is one worship leader who plays a flute that opens up the Heavens.  I immediately picture myself as the branches of a weeping willow tree and I dance in the breeze created by Christ himself as the wind.  The freedom of this waltz pierces my heart and draws me into the arms of Christ.  There have also been times when I feel lost and the music acts like a rescue whistle and I listen intently trying to find my way back.  

Man does not live by bread alone.  May I encourage you to both read the word of God, the bread, but also to worship and take in the living water, the blood of Christ?  Accept the gift of salvation and rejoice and celebrate through worship.  Soak in the waters of his love, drink when you are weak and thirsty, cleanse yourself of the daily sins of life, and draw close to the only one who offers you living waters. 

The Well of Living Water

The well of living water exists in the empty places; I didn’t realize it till recently. For the past four years there has been a veil of doubt that covered my heart and I didn’t know. I witnessed God’s love for lost souls, but I didn’t realize the power of that love. I shared that I have cried over the soul of Jeffrey Weiss, but not all of you know his story. Jeffrey was a little boy when his father committed suicide. He was barely eleven when his mother was injured beyond healing in a car accident. He moved to an Indian reservation in Minnesota before he became a teenage; an orphan of sorts, full of pain. He was alienated, bullied, and alone. That pain turned inward and he became the bully. At sixteen he murdered his grandfather, his grandfather’s girlfriend, the school security guard, a teacher, and six students before he killed himself. I have cried for his soul in Hell because he was as much a victim of life as the lives he took. I have been angry with God for not saving his soul. I recently figured out I never asked. My faith was so blind to the power of God it never occurred to me he could be saved. While praying into this a little while ago I remembered that Jesus traveled into Hell once and I realized he could again. The scripture verse that says there is no place we can hide from God popped into my head. I asked God to save Jeffrey’s soul from Hell and I heard “done.” How often we are in the middle of a struggle and forget that the answer to our peace is just a few words away. The waters of life are endless, powerful, and always available for those who fully trust in God.

The Empty Places

I started a new study tonight, One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. I’m on page two when I’m faced with the holes that tear at my heart, the death of a child. I realize I’m destined to deal with this pain that I keep trying to hide, to run from. I have witnessed the burial of way too many children, victims of accidents, and violence, but it is the one who took his own life that still brings me to tears. I hear his cries in my sleep from the depths of Hell and I know he is the one soul I couldn’t save. I was too late. I am reminded of Rachel and how she peacefully floated away. I was unaware of her fight because she so joyfully let go. She was filled to completeness, at peace with her short time of existence. But Jeffrey screams silently of his pain; a pain that will never have a chance to heal. I pray for his soul. I pray that peace finds him. I share his story and tears fill my eyes and I choke back the pain. He is lost, forever burning in sin and sorrow and there is nothing I can do, he is out of reach. A homeless man pry’s at the meaning behind the tears. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to face the facts. He backs away, sensing that it is too painful to put to words. I scramble for an answer that will appease. He represents too many children who are in pain, who straddle a line between good and evil, who are both victims and killers waiting to take aim. He gently brushes back my hair and wipes my eyes, but he knows I am lying, running from the truth. The truth hurts too much. There is a soul in Hell that I can’t reach. A child who should have been saved, but was lost and swallowed up by the pain. That one soul constantly fills me with doubt. It shields me from God’s grace and leaves me wanting more; more answers, more grace, more peace, more joy. Yet, I feel empty from the loss.