I woke up last Sabbath morning feeling normal. I’ve felt normal every since. 6 days of normal. It’s so relieving I’ve existed under this weight, so heavy on my chest, for over three months. . . . the last month being the worst, suffocatingly so.
I read Psalm 134 yesterday; part of my quiet time Bible study. It’s a call to “bless the Lord”. What struck me was that it is for those who “stand in the Lord’s house at night.” A strange picture is drawn in my head. Normally I think of coming to the Lord’s house in the day time, sun shining, flowers blooming, a bounce in my step, joy springing from my soul. But this. . . this picture is at night.
It’s dark, only street lamps light the way. Dim ones that cast a faint yellow glow. The air is foreboding. Darkness presses in. I walk the streets. A cloak covers my body, a hood over my head. I shiver, not from the cold, but from the darkness of the night. I know where I’m going. The shadows dance at a distance. I turn the corner, the House of the Lord stands tall before me, majestic, made of stone. The rose window luminescent under the night sky. I lower the hood off my head and undo the clasp of my cloak as I walk up the numerous steps to the massive wooden doors that stand between me and the House of the Lord. I grip the long brass handle and pull. Heavy, I pull hard. The door opens silently. I enter. Candles light the House or the Lord. The breeze caused by opening the door causes the light to flicker. Removing my cloak I place it over the back pew. A deep breath escapes my body. Slowly I walk to the front; each step brings greater release. My shoulders relax, the anxious anticipation seeps out of my heart. Though my soul is heavy I find rest. I sit in the front pew. And here I am, in the House of the Lord . . . at night . . . and I am safe.