To sink down.
To be depressed.
That’s one way the BLB describes worship.
Men and women prostrate on their faces
when the holy presses in.
Worship is God’s thumb on the heart.
Worship is breathless in the face of breath.
In all the wild and wonder.
In all the chaos and confusion.
We worship not just in the pew but in this place.
In this one ordinary, inconsequential place.
In this uncounted moment.
In song of a bird in the tree and a gush of water from the hose.
In the softened fragrance of a husband’s fresh-washed shirt.
In suds-filled sink and blot-up of one more puppy puddle.
Worship happens when we wipe a nose or wash a foot.
When we string words on a screen
or splash color on canvas.
It’s a weight on and an ache in the chest, a heavy humble.
An upward focus in a fallen world.
It’s finding beauty in the broken,
lifting eyes to the hills while walking through the valley,
and while stooping to serve
in the unseen spaces.
It’s a raising up of the One who brought Himself low.
Stilled in worship,
Joining Lisa-Jo and community on the word prompt worship
in five minutes of word spilling.