my place of rest

God--you're my God!
I can't get enough of you!
I've worked up such hunger and thirst for God,
traveling across dry and weary deserts.

So here I am in the place of worship, eyes open,
drinking in your strength and glory.
In your generous love I am really living at last!
My lips brim praises like fountains.
I bless you every time I take a breath;
My arms wave like banners of praise to you.

I eat my fill of prime rib and gravy;
I smack my lips. It's time to shout praises!
If I'm sleepless at midnight,
I spend the hours in grateful reflection.
Because you've always stood up for me,
I'm free to run and play.
I hold on to you for dear life,
and you hold me steady as a post.

Those who are out to get me are marked for doom,
marked for death, bound for hell.
They'll die violent deaths;
jackals will tear them limb from limb.
But the king is glad in God;
his true friends spread the joy,
While small-minded gossips
are gagged for good.

David wrote these words on the run. He was ripped from his home and tossed into the desert by an attempted coup (you can read the history here). I can't imagine what it would be like to live in that kind transition...living out of a suitcase for an indeterminate amount of time...never knowing if you will be able to return home.

Oh wait, those words hit a little too close to home (no pun intended).

Crystal and I finally made the big move this weekend. We have spent the past six weeks feverishly trying to get our new house ready for this moment...and we didn't get it all done.

Members of my family (I love you) generously offered to pay our apartment rent for another week or two so that we could avoid living in a house that isn't complete. While these offers were much appreciated, Crystal and I choose to decline those offers.

We are tired of living in transition. We are tired of living somewhere between our old aparment and our new house. Our nerves are wearing thin. We would rather living in a house with no shower or hot water than deal with this "in-between" feeling for one more day.

There is something special about a home. It is a place of comfort. It is an enclave from everything around you. It's like the world slows down when you step through the doorway at the end of the day. You know what I mean? I'm ready to feel that again.

At this moment in my life, David's words inspire me. He leaves me dumbfounded as I stare at a snapshot of David's life at this moment and let his poetry soak into my soul.

David is stuck in a dusty tent. His solace has been ripped from his fingers by his own son. He should be mad...mad at his son...mad at himself...mad at God.

Instead, he buries his face in the sand and bows before his God. He takes his feelings of anxiety, hunger and discomfort and turns them on their head. It's like his circumstances are the lumber that he throws atop a flame of worship.

I'm thirsty. I need to drink deeply of my God.
I'm dirty. I need to bathe in the cool waters of my Redeemer.
I'm tired. I need to collapse on the soft cot of my Savior.
I'm weak. I need to hide behind the strong back of my King.

My place of rest needs to be in the presence of my God, not 116 Danny Drive.