A lot of things in life catch my attention.
I picture moments in freeze-frame like the cartoons used to do way back when. The image in my mind is a desert road with nothing in sight except beauty . . . and a lone tumbleweed bumbling around.
I think moments are vying for our attention, waiting for us to pause long enough to see more than what's right in front of us, and sometimes demanding for us to see less of the beyond and more of what is right here in the now.
Moments challenge us like a three year-old pushing and pulling at our sleeve, shouting: Notice me!
For the past few years I've had a perspective that our very lives are art and the way we live them out in the *whirl and twirl* of life is our worship. We've been Handcrafted for the moments of our lives and our response to them is a reflection of our hearts turned inside out. Beauty is in our behaving -- not necessarily good, but more of as we are in the now.
Worship is in our unique *way* of simply being.
I'm working on a smallish project that I've resisted and once upon a time even selfishly shelved. It's nagged at me, gnawed at me, nudged me, and nearly knocked me over in the way it has latched on to me and sipped life from my heart.
I've wondered, and wrestled, and worried, and wearied over this . . . and I've realized that the very way I have responded at various times has all been a very real offering.
No one moment has been any more or any less of beauty.
Every thing, person and experience has all mattered, and every single one of them has been purposed. God knew what it would take to bring me to willingness, to surrender the why and kneel down low to pick up the what.ever.
Now, I finally get this call more than I've ever gotten a call in my life. It's a tremendous responsibility and that has changed my life. I am stepping into it with passion and submission, sacrifice and truly deep pleasure.
Here, in this space, the smallish project isn't complete {quite} yet, and truthfully I'm not sure it will ever be what I imagine it to be. Words are in pages and I sit in silent patience. I could hold back on this ache I feel to share right now in this way . . . but I can't, because I've learned that the tension that comes when I delay is a side effect of nothing less than disobedience. And I can't stand any more of that kind of ache.
I'm moving {ever so slightly} from enveloping stories of worship I see living all around me, to boldly proclaiming them.
I'm moving beyond simple and quiet personal comments I often leave on fingerprinted corners of the big wide writing world of the web, and I'm taking steps to set them on the table for tasting and telling and toasting.
Starting right now, with no pretty bow tied in this space or a brilliantly branded image, this place will officially be a place of celebration. Of the hard and the happy, honest to goodness, Real worship in the *whirl and twirl* of life . . . and how they build beautiful stories of God's glory, moment-by-blessed-moment.
So, let's dance. Let's declare. Let's boldly be.
this is my worship.
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