Occasionally Iím guilty of something I donít know how to handle or categorize in my mind to know if Iím crossing a line in rational thinking that would be justification enough to be admitted for further emotional evaluation. I hesitate to mention it to my friends, especially those to whom Sunday morning is just a blip in their day-timer when they dress a little nicer and have to remember to not let anything indiscreet slip from their mouths that would distinguish them from this select group of people and thereby question the validity of their membership. It doesnít happen every Sunday, but it is happening with increasing frequency. Itís just thisÖÖ..Iím so disappointed when the last note fades from a medley of songs that has ministered to my spirit as I offered my worship to my Savior, and I donít want this time to come to an end. The world had faded to the point where I sense the Spirit of God so strongly and I resent having to say my goodbyes. Just once I would love for the worship pastor to quietly say that God desires that there be no sermon and weíre not leaving until the last person has worshipped to their heartís content as we hear the instruments in agreement join in with the praise team for the chorus of Agnus Dei. Itís on these occasions that I canít tell you who is in front of me or what the weather is like outside, because Iím on a different plane. The instruments are in such harmony that it makes my heart swell with the beauty of being given the privilege of offering these earthly songs to praise someone who deserves so much more than anything I could humanly conjure up and yet He accepts it because He loves me and He knows that it is the best that I have. Times like this make me long for heaven with an ache and an expectancy I can only associate with waiting for my wedding day and the birth of my children. This is so far beyond those events, that I feel like Iíve not done the concept of eternity any justice to link them with something so common.
Iíve heard some people say that if heaven is just a repeat of church, they really donít know what theyíll do for a million years multiplied. Their nervous laugh is a dead giveaway that they have never experienced true worship. I canít wait to not have to worry about repeating the song over and over and violating the time frame. I donít want to worry about mascara streaming down my cheeks because of the tears. I just want to worship God and revel in the beauty of His presence. Millions of humans joined in a chorus that has no beginning or end that echoes of the great love that redeemed mankind from eternal punishment has to be the mother of all songs. I think I have a grappling on why the creatures just say ďHoly, Holy, HolyĒ over and over again. I donít imagine weíll have to break for coffee and donuts or stand around the water fountain catching up on each otherís news before bracing ourselves to go in for another session of praise and worship. What else can be of any significance that would equal the splendor of just bowing at His feet?