But solid food is for the mature, for those whose faculties have been trained by practice to distinguish good from evil. – Hebrews 5:14, NRSV

Marriage has afforded me a front row seat to study my husband.  I have looked into his face thousands of times.  He has one face where he sticks his tongue out just a bit.  It is a cross between humor and mischief.  Mostly mischief.

When he is agreeing with one of my crazy notions, with eyes locked, his eyebrows go up just a little and he nods his head.  This is usually accompanied by an, “Mm Hm”.

I say that certain characteristics are just like him, but not exactly.  My time of study has shown that he is unique.   From the way he expresses his love for me to the the way he stands in front of the refrigerator looking for a drink, he is completely his own.

There are faces that are worth the practice.  They are worth reading each line, listening to every story.

The time that I spend with Christ is practice.

To exist in a world contrary to my Spirit, I need to know what is like Him, and what is unlike Him.  To make decisions for my family, I need to know how He expresses joy or warning into my heart.  I need to build a history with Him and, like any history, this happens face-to-face.

In the quiet, He teaches me His cues.  He takes my face in His hand and tells me to study the lines of His word.

What I learn at my kitchen table is never wasted.  Training of faith assures me that I will see the word, living.  Perhaps I will recognize Him when I stand waiting in a hall, understanding the intrusion of a stranger as a conversation marked in eternity.  It could be in the offer of rides or delivery of meals.

Always, it happens in relationship.

Always, it comes from the training He intends for my maturity.

I don’t know how the simple act of sitting before Him transforms moments to mission and abolishes coincidence, except that all time lives in Him.  I simply know that the privilege of a living faith starts with practice.

That is what I did not believe about quiet times…before.

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Click to read, Quiet Times: What I Did Not Believe About Them – Part 1, and Part 2.

“…yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” – Luke 18:5, NRSV

A voice.  Many times I have lacked one.

We are conditioned to forfeit our voice.  Simple greetings solicit forgettable, verbal status updates.  Often, if I say too much, I grow ashamed of my voice.  I hope, secretly, that the cashier doesn’t think that I am too lonely.

Some days I do not fit into 140 characters.

To the disappointment of the world, perhaps, many words are heavy in my mind.

My words are heavy in His mind, too.

When I am alone with God, rules of verbal limitation are struck down with thunder bolts and rained upon with fire.  Alone with Him, each letter is suspended and every name is held in consideration.

By some miracle, this same voice that complains about drivers and grocery store lines rises past the skyscrapers and mountains, beyond the jet streams and clouds.  My words do not stop until the find the throne room.  The same plea rises, over and over, supernaturally transforming to incense before my God.

So, I speak. I ask, again and again.

If, I catch myself.  If I become conscious that I am speaking into an empty room.  If I think that I should be quiet, that I should rest the ear of God, He persists even more.

He does not want me to leave until every sigh, every smile, every tear, every petition and every concern has escaped the vault of my heart.  Even when I am silent with Him, I know that He only wants more of me.  What I cannot give in words, He takes in emotion.  He draws everything out, makes me look at it, and then replaces it with precious truths that deserve purer lips then mine.

He wants my voice.  He wants more and more of it.

That is what I did not believe about quiet times…before.

Please, take a moment and subscribe to this blog and the new Facebook page.  I love having you around.

Click to read, Quiet Times: What I Did Not Believe About Them – Part 1.