As is my practice, I read the Bible just before I go to sleep. I ask God to fill my thoughts and to wake me with the words He wants me to hear.This particular evening I read:
Psalm 126 (NIV)
A song for pilgrims ascending to Jerusalem.
1 When the Lord brought back his exiles to Jerusalem, it was like a dream!
2 We were filled with laughter, and we sang for joy. And the other nations said, “What amazing things the Lord has done for them.”
3 Yes, the Lord has done amazing things for us! What joy!
2 We were filled with laughter, and we sang for joy. And the other nations said, “What amazing things the Lord has done for them.”
3 Yes, the Lord has done amazing things for us! What joy!
4 Restore our fortunes, Lord, as streams renew the desert.
5 Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy.
6 They weep as they go to plant their seed, but they sing as they return with the harvest.
5 Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy.
6 They weep as they go to plant their seed, but they sing as they return with the harvest.
The people were experiencing great joy of coming home following the terrible tragedy of being torn away from the homes, their families, and everything they knew and loved.
I had a dream, and I wondered on waking from it if this was the lesson from this psalm that God had for me. There was a very clear Holy Spirit response: “Yes.”Excited, I pulled myself from half slumber thinking, “I did it! I established this habitual practice of going to sleep with a psalm on my mind and a request for God to give me wisdom. I did this!”
At this thought I grabbed my bedside notebook and pencil and…it was gone. Vanished. Erased. Nada.
Then it dawned on me. What was my response? “I did this.” My thoughts were all about me. I was treating God as if He was a vending machine, I put my coins in the slot that I chose, and He gave me what I wanted. I was focusing on me, my wants, my accomplishments–not on God.
All of the dream, the “AHA” moment, the lesson God had for me was withdrawn. I can’t remember even a glimmer.
Forgive me, Lord.
Kathleen S Evenhouse 