The invitation

Years later, I wonder why he never wanted me.

Because I need to be wanted.

And you’d think I’d grow out of it at 25, but I just have to ask him before he can hang up the phone: “Dad, do you miss me?”

Because I need to be needed.

I always feel it when I’m standing in places far away from telephone lines, when the bars of service on my phone shrink down to blanks.

How human affirmation only reaches as far as my service provider.

And how we’re different.

It’s what He told Moses when Moses was trembling at the thought of leading a nation out of slavery.

I Am Who I Am.

But I am the mess that Monday left in its wake.

I am the aftermath of a three-hour long meeting that didn’t go my way.

I Am Who I Am.

He doesn’t need us to call Him the Creator to confirm that He made the unnamed galaxies.

He doesn’t need us to show up to church and sing Hallelujah to know that His place is a heavenly throne.

But He invites us to worship.

To want Him, need Him, lean on His all-knowing, all-loving, all-powerful self.

Because He loves us.

Because when I’m coming out of a three-hour meeting or when I’m sitting in my basement apartment after the funeral or in the window seat of plane flying towards the unknown, I can exalt something other than the fearfulness of my situation.

Because worship is not a burden or an obligatory rite of passage. It’s a gift. It’s an undeserved opportunity to delight in Someone who is always better than everything else.

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