We’ve all been there.
Some people feel it more on Monday mornings….or idle Thursday afternoons….or only following big spiritual events like a retreat or a vacation. Personally, I call it the “Sunday afternoon slump.”
It’s that sense of wonderment….and wonderment lost. It’s the feeling of remembering, with distinct clarity, the peace of worship in community. Remembering the undeniable presence of God. Remembering the tug on one’s heart that couldn’t possibly come from anyone outside….but only from the One who is inside ourselves and all around, all at once.
It’s that feeling of wanting the world to fall away. It’s the desire for the meetings on the calendar, the dishes in the sink, the laundry in the basket…the desire for all of those things to simply wait.
It’s the realization that though we wish and dream and long for the mountaintop of worship and closeness with God to last forever, it simply cannot.
And then, we slump.
Life will go on…the noise will again crowd in…and we’ll again long for that closeness…the peace…the quiet…the intimacy of time spent with our Creator. We’ll long for it until it comes again. However long it takes, we’ll go on longing. Whatever comes in the meantime, we’ll never cease our longing.
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God? My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng. (Psalm 42:1-4)
Sometimes, the recollection of worship seems otherworldly, and placing ourselves in that memory seems impossible. With the way we feel right now, in this moment, it is hard to imagine having ever felt the way we did then.
That was the mountain, and here, on Sunday afternoon or Monday morning, we find ourselves in the valley.
The high has passed, and here we are, once again, in the harsh reality of life. The mountaintop cannot last…
…and really, if it were possible, I wonder if I would want it to. It has been in the valleys that I have grown. It has been in those places of panic attacks and tear-soaked pillows that I have seen God most clearly and felt His hand on me. It has been in those moments of utter desperation that I have reached the end of myself and entered, finally, into the bliss of allowing Him to take over.
That can only happen in the valley, whenever and wherever it may come. So if that mountaintop could last, would I want it to? I know myself. I know that given time and space, I will lose my appreciation for the things that at first swept me off my feet. I know that given time, my wonderment would cease. I’d like to think it wouldn’t, but I know myself.
So no….the mountaintop cannot last forever, and I will inevitably plunge into a valley as a result. The valley will be cold and harsh and dark, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If all I knew was sunlight, I wouldn’t appreciate its warmth when it peeks from behind a storm cloud. The valleys, in truth, help me to see God more clearly and to understand His heart.
It’s about the journey. How much of a journey, really, can one make on top of a mountain? There isn’t much space to move around up there. At best, I could turn in a small circle, barely shifting my feet as I pivoted slowly around. That, friends, is no journey. And in doing that I would be no pilgrim.
The journey takes me to the valleys more often than it takes me to the mountaintops. Sunday morning is but a small portion of my week. The rest of the time, I must continue my sojourn through life.
Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage. (Psalm 84:5)
I’ll wait….you’ll wait….and when He sees fit, He’ll escort us back to the mountaintop. Meanwhile, I’m setting my heart on pilgrimage knowing full well that this pilgrim will descend into the valleys. The journey will take me to the low places, and when it does, it will be okay. It will not be fun, but it will be okay.
All photos were taken by me on our recent vacation to North Carolina.
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