A Holy Moment

Today I lived for a time in a holy moment. There was no stage, singers, band, lights, or service…but a holy moment was had none the less.  Not in a church, or at an altar, but in a simple brick home, with a bright orange door, at the outside center of a c-shaped neighborhood.

The large cream tile floors of my home had absorbed the cold air of the night before and the white fur rug beneath my bare feet felt like soft ice, intertwining itself between my toes and the floor below it. New morning light soft and warm, yellow and delicate poured in from a half dozen now open white window shutters. A rosemary mint candle burned brightly beside me, filling the room with a scent that stirs my affections for Christ and creating.

The sounds of my young sons imagining a world of superheroes, astronauts, and unimaginable make believe in their room could be heard just over the sounds of quiet piano worship music echoing through the halls of our new not quite furniture filled home.

A hardly put together mess of motherhood and exhaustion in the form of two-day old french braids beginning to come loose in my hair, sleep crusted in the corners of my eyes, and unbrushed teeth were all I brought to the table for a moment with my Lord. An old grey sweatshirt that was too big and even older navy pajama pants that were too small were the garments of worship I dawned.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, letting my breath drown out a world of things vying for my attention at that moment, THE moment, the breaking of day and the beginning of new. I pushed out the sound of my sons, focused my mind on the music, and my heart on the Father, and found myself here:

“I’m not here for blessings
Jesus, You don’t owe me anything
More than anything that You can do
I just want you…”

Suddenly but not at all sudden, a familiar Presence filled the room. So tangible and true that it prompted August to look up out of his room and speak across the baby gate that he could easily open without trying.

“Mom, what was that?”
“Jesus, buddy.”
“Cool, can He stay?”
“I hope He never leaves baby.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and a knot hitched in my throat, and softly without force, strong but kind, a resounding whisper filled the room. August’s eyes snatched up to meet mine, with a four-year-old mix of confusion, delight, and perfect peace, and I knew he heard it too.

“I’ll stay as long as you want Me.”

And then I wept. My tears fell in the form of both a prayer and a plea. A prayer to let Him know that He was always welcome. That we were presence people, and our home was His home first. But then a plea to myself. A plea to always want Him, to never be satisfied or happy without Him close to me.

When I collected myself, we spent time together in my home turned tabernacle. Walking and worshiping I praised Him for who He was and how He loved me. I thanked Him for coming in a tangible way and meeting me when I had nothing spectacular to offer. I read His word and I thanked Him for truth and wisdom and provision, and then when I was all done, He stayed. He stayed when I had to settle a sibling dispute of toy ownership, He stayed when I had to make two juice cups, He stayed for three bathroom trips, two cups of tea, and one hour of Nothing Else by Cody Carnes on repeat. He stayed, and His presence made the ordinary day to day activities of a stay at home mother feel miraculous and holy.

He stayed.

God is longing to have holy moments with us amid our ordinary day to day lives.

He doesn’t need a church or a band. He needs no lights or stage. He simply needs need you to want to spend the time with Him that He longs to spend with you. A Father, longing for the return of His wayward sons, and a Lover, longing for intimacy with the bride He loves.

Holy moments don’t need holy places to happen, they simply need willing people to welcome His Holiness.