How the birds remind me, the goal of all things

I had another post on expectancy written for today.

It will have to wait.

I spent time this afternoon on my face. Katie’s life crumbles me. Amazing, beautiful Katie who’s only 21 and has adopted fourteen African orphans and feeds 1200 mouths every weekday. What am I doing? I struggle just to take care of these two kids who have colds and I’m wiping noses and bottoms and counters and I have six teaching sessions to study for this upcoming conference and I’m staring at this blank screen saying, “GOD! Where are you?” and it pours down rain outside and it’s June. But like Anne I feel so small, crumpled, deflated — we all have immunizations and medical care and the pouring rain doesn’t touch us and my kitchen counters are filled with bowls of fresh organic fruit and for crying out loud I just had diapers delivered to my door.

What, dear God, am I doing?

The tears come. Lots of them.

I read my passage, Psalm 27:6:

I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the LORD.

Worship.

And then it wells up in my heart and rises up to clear my eyes and even as I type these words I look outside and the clouds have parted and the sky is clear. The rain stopped. A bird sings, is actually singing this very moment as I type this sentence.

Even the rocks will cry out.

That bird keeps singing.  The bird that’s neither holding orphans nor speaking at conferences.

Is anxious for nothing.

Because we cannot worship and be anxious simultaneously. And worship is the only spiritual discipline which is an end in and of itself.

Missions exist because worship doesn’t. We storm the 10-40 window because in it there are worshippers of God who are not yet worshipping.We sponsor children in Africa, orphans ravaged by the effects of AIDs, not simply to give them a better life but so they can see the goodness and mercy of our glorious God and rise to their feet in worship. I pick eight dear women to mentor for the next 10 months not because we need more meetings but because I see in them the capacity to become radical and influential worshippers of the One True God.

And the tears keep flowing, ones of joy now, because I’m seeing this is freedom. The pure and holy fire of desire is that all creation would worship our Great and Glorious God. That they would see Him as the most beautiful, most faithful, most worthy, most captivating.

But if our motivation is anything less the flame will be dirty.

My flame has been dirty.

I confess I want this book I’m writing to be published.  What’s the point of pouring out all these words if no one reads them?

But that bird sings whether I’m listening or not.

Because worship is an end in and of itself. What if that bird waited to sing until someone was listening?

She would be silent forever. Because we don’t listen until we hear the song. And the world won’t listen until you sing your worship.

You have worship in your heart, a joyful sacrifice to shout to your King.

Your worship will be different from Katie’s, from Anne’s, from Beth’s. From mine. It will be yours and you’re the only one who can sing it.

But we have to sing it, friends. And we have to remember that worship is our goal. Fellowship isn’t the goal, Christian education isn’t the goal, financial stewardship isn’t the goal, even evangelization and world missions isn’t the ultimate goal.  Worship is the goal.

Everything we do must serve that end.

Remember: Worship. The goal is God glorified.