During a recent period of rest and solitude, I went a different way. I made a right-angle turn in my heart.
It simply occurred to me that, throughout the course of my belief so far, God has always been beside me or above me. That is the place I’ve assumed for him. I have been focused on my challenges and aims. I would call out thanks to God for the victories, or I would call out to God for help when I felt in peril. Either way, I have called out to God.
The right-angle turn consisted of looking at God instead. Making him the focus.
The turn consisted of seeing my life such that those challenges and those objectives are now to one side of me, not him. He is in the front. My challenges might not be overcome in this world. My aims might not be met. Yet he is in control. He has a plan, he has somewhere to take me in this world, he has things he wants to impart—and I am less interested, now, in being distracted.
With this turn, with this shift in focus, certain verses now make more sense than they ever made before. “Pray without ceasing” (I Thessalonians 5:17) is one of those verses. The Lord, I realize, is continually creating—making everything around me, every part of my experience. If I look for him, if he is my focus, if I am attentive to his active choosing of what he wants to show me, then we are unceasingly communicating.
“Seek my face” (II Chronicles 7:14) is another such verse. That sphere of experience all around me is part of God’s face. It is part of the expression God wears on his face—the expression God wears toward me. Such a face is at least as rich with expression as any human face could ever be. Think of how people’s faces communicate. Facial expressions are so subtle, so nuanced, that they send meaning right into our hearts that words cannot contain. Now consider how much more elaborately expressive the face of God must be.
I find the most basic consequence of my turn toward this face, the Lord’s face, in the softer and simpler way I now address him. I used to call him “God.” I used to call him “Lord.” I still do. But when you look at someone, they know to whom you are speaking. More often now, I find myself simply addressing him as “You.”
It simply occurred to me that, throughout the course of my belief so far, God has always been beside me or above me. That is the place I’ve assumed for him. I have been focused on my challenges and aims. I would call out thanks to God for the victories, or I would call out to God for help when I felt in peril. Either way, I have called out to God.
The right-angle turn consisted of looking at God instead. Making him the focus.
The turn consisted of seeing my life such that those challenges and those objectives are now to one side of me, not him. He is in the front. My challenges might not be overcome in this world. My aims might not be met. Yet he is in control. He has a plan, he has somewhere to take me in this world, he has things he wants to impart—and I am less interested, now, in being distracted.
With this turn, with this shift in focus, certain verses now make more sense than they ever made before. “Pray without ceasing” (I Thessalonians 5:17) is one of those verses. The Lord, I realize, is continually creating—making everything around me, every part of my experience. If I look for him, if he is my focus, if I am attentive to his active choosing of what he wants to show me, then we are unceasingly communicating.
“Seek my face” (II Chronicles 7:14) is another such verse. That sphere of experience all around me is part of God’s face. It is part of the expression God wears on his face—the expression God wears toward me. Such a face is at least as rich with expression as any human face could ever be. Think of how people’s faces communicate. Facial expressions are so subtle, so nuanced, that they send meaning right into our hearts that words cannot contain. Now consider how much more elaborately expressive the face of God must be.
I find the most basic consequence of my turn toward this face, the Lord’s face, in the softer and simpler way I now address him. I used to call him “God.” I used to call him “Lord.” I still do. But when you look at someone, they know to whom you are speaking. More often now, I find myself simply addressing him as “You.”
