The Liturgy of Life

Liturgical worship has taught me to embrace patterns. Worship begins by God inviting us before His throne. We respond in praise. He sets before us His standard. We confess that we fall short and plead the merits of the Blood. He forgives us. We are encouraged. He feeds us with His body and blood and we go out equipped. The cycle repeats. He initiates. We respond.

As I try to bring a pattern and purpose to the fabric of my life, I frequently feel it unraveling between my fingers. But one thing I know, one pattern I have discerned, my life is unraveled, only to be held together and woven into something.

This unraveling brings despair but perhaps, more importantly, it brings me to my knees. This latest unraveling encouraged me to pray literally on my knees out loud. Even when my heart didn’t feel it, I said it, out loud.

There is power is saying something out loud. It is uncomfortable to cry into the void of your family room ceiling, “God, I want an answer! I want this over! But no matter what, give me You. Show Your glory. Though I know I am unworthy, let me be apart of something grand.”

Those words are lies mostly so I some point I confess that too. I know that I should say them. Wanting to be part of something greater than yourself is noble but the extent of my nobility was wanting to be seen superior, glorious in my own right.

But as I said before, God is always weaving a tale very different than I had in mind. Thankfully, because I as much as I credit myself with the gift of foresight, I am not a very good life planner. This something is different than I intended but it is never lacking in beauty.

I don’t know what the tale is yet. Like Frodo in the Mountains of Moria (nerd alert!) I wish this wasn’t my tale. Many nights I lay awake, wrestling with God, begging for a neat little story with all ends tied neatly into place. But for now, I look to the sufficiency of the grace of God and remember that I am held and that tomorrow will bring manna yet again.

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