It’s quiet. 4:35 AM usually is at my home.
I know how thin the line is between the dark and the light this time of day. This early, right now, the thread between night and day is razor-like.
And God feels so close.
The early Celtic Christians called moments like this “thin places.” They are the hallowed in-between places of prayer and meditation. They are those times and places in your life when you experience a heightened awareness of something—rather Someone—holy.
A thin place can happen while watching the sun rise or set.
Or it can happen during moments of solitude while walking on the beach.
They can come in times of reflection while lost (and found) in a passage of scripture or a good book.
And they are those experiences of gentle worship when you lift your heart in your hands to the One who loves you more than His own life.
To feel indifferent at times like this is impossible.
But it is the indifference that concerns me.
Two years of Covid has jaded my soul. I wrestle with cynicism far more than before Covid. I struggle more with negativism and self-doubt.
People ask me, “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Yet they are unaware that fine in my world means one line above discouragement.
But this moment, alone, quiet, close to Jesus, right now, drains the swamp inside of me.
In this moment, I am empty, aware of my faults, but not consumed by them, and I am restored.
The antidote to indifference is God’s presence, leading to spiritual passion.
I am passionate about the things I value (and so are you).
Do I truly value His presence?
Is an encounter with Jesus like air to me?
Jesus demonstrated passion for the Father. Doctor Luke wrote that Jesus “often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”
Jesus unquestionably knew the value of thin places.
Isn’t it interesting how we always find the time to do what matters most to us?
And this moment with Him right now matters. Alone, but not alone.
Yes, I’m better now.
Far more than fine.
And I think it’s time to watch the sunrise.