Calling Out for God

Sometimes we cry out for what we already possess.

I’ve been reading George MacDonald’s Diary of an Old Soul. It’s confirming that MacDonald is one of my favorite writers. I read some lines the other night that were sharp enough to draw tears. They were so raw and honest.

Come to me, Lord: I will not speculate how,
Nor think at which door I would have thee appear,
Nor put off calling till my floors be swept,
But cry, “Come, Lord, come any way, come now.”
Doors, windows, I throw wide; my head I bow,
And sit like some one who so long has slept
That he knows nothing till his life draw near.

“Come any way”—that was the line that gripped me. “Any way—any way you want to, Lord. Just be here.”

Our souls can feel ossified sometimes. The light and airy breath that bears us up in happiness or contentment turns somehow to bone. What holds us up stiffens as we settle into the familiar. It can become so easy to fall into a routine and forget how precious the presence of God is.