How great is my desire for my Heavenly Father? His presence? His word? Am I desperate for Him?
The sky glows pink and hazy orange when my baby stands on tip toe, eyes searching above the lip of the window sill.
He is twelve months full of joy and demanding spirit, this sweet blessing of ours, pressed to the glass of the windowpanes, his demand a sharp arrow into evening’s dusk.
He toddles back and forth in pajama-clad feet, beneath windows set just slightly too high for him to see out, to understand. His view is limited. He catches glimpses by tiptoe, the picture incomplete, unclear. And yet he calls. He calls out with all his heart, all of his precious baby strength.
He searches. He walks this house, walks his whole world with a single-minded determinedness that echoes throughout these walls, this mama heart, saying:
You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water. Psalm 63:1
I scoop up this babe and draw him to my heart, whisper that his daddy is only outside, that he will be back soon. And when the front door finally opens, his shrieks of delight are warmer than our setting sun. He grips my husband’s legs, then neck, delights in the presence and protection of him, a sheep to his shepherd.
How great is my desire for you, Lord? Your presence? Your word?
Am I desperate for you?
Desperate with the faith of a child?
Earnestly, I seek you Lord. As I scrub floors and buckle car seats and mash the potatoes, may my heart call for you:
Teach me to hide your word in my heart, that I will find you at every turn, that your voice and wisdom and counsel will be with me.
I thirst for you in this truly dry and parched land. For you, Abba, Daddy, are my Living Water.