Thirst

Each Tuesday, as I walk up the street to her house, I pray the same simple prayer: "Lord, help me not to get in the way of whatever you are doing!"

While we discuss the miracles of John, tears repeatedly fill her eyes. She is being wooed, and I am just a witness. Like an eager spectator, I find myself captivated by the romance that is unfolding before me. Completely separate from it, but unable to turn away.

"I have a hard time believing that God really cares about me, personally," she confesses, apologetically.

I don't know how to respond. I suggest she read Psalm 139. I ask my pastor for advice.

"Just let the scriptures speak to her. Its not your job to convince her, God will do it. He's already doing it."

I know he is right. So I go to her each week, praying, "Lord, help me not to get in they way of whatever you are doing."

And every week the hunger increases. Every week the tears flow.

"I don't know why I always cry!" she says.

Then it hits me. Those tears are the work of the Holy Spirit. He is caressing her heart, and she doesn't even know it. He is giving her evidence of His personal, intimate, passion for her. He is loving her, and the only way she can respond is with holy tears.

I know those tears.

I am struck with an unexpected emotion: jealousy!

I want to feel that passionate love. I want to cry those tears anew. Have God and I become an old married couple? Can the flame be rekindled?

The next morning at prayer, I share these thoughts...this deep desire for my heart to burn again. I feel like one of the stone statues in Narnia, desperate for the breath of Aslan to warm me, to bring me to life.

And I wait.

Thristy.

Thankful for a thirst that can only be quenched by living water.

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