It’s the struggle, the dance, the tension of the push and pull and movement, that disheartens us and creates an insecurity that becomes a black hole, a place of death.
Then, God finds us. He sends angels, angels in the form of friends, voices, birds, bumper stickers and words, and he comes into the hole with us. George Herbert, in one of his most beautiful poems, suggests that He sits with us in that place. Then, after a short time, He rises, our hand in his, and welcomes us to leave the place of fear.
We rise with Him, or demand He stay. When we rise with Him, worship’s fragrance fills the space around us, between us, over us, under us.
We come to life, and worship is the new breath that fills our lungs.