The first night I was a pastor's wife I practically didn't go to bed.
Ray and the three babies and I had moved from Princeton Seminary in New Jersey to our first pastorate in Christiana, Pennsylvania, a town with eleven hundred souls counting absolutely everybody.
You know how moving is.
The children were finally bedded down, Buddy and Margie in their cribs and Sherry on a mattress on the floor. Then the doorbell rang, and a sad-looking lady stood there. Her mother was dying, and she didn't want to care for her alone. Would I come help?
I went to Mrs. Thompson's house. We slept in snatches, but much of the time it seemed we were trying to pry mother's teeth apart to get down pills with teaspoons of water. In the morning I went home again to our new house, a little shaky in the legs.
Was this how it was to be a pastor's wife? Would people call on me every night to help the dying? (Mrs. Thompson's mother died later that morning, and nobody has ever asked me to do that since.)
But there was a special wonder to that first full day in the ministry. I was groggy, but I asked the Lord for His presence to be my strength, and I lived it in living color. Life was precious. Death was a reality. Somebody had truly needed me and been truly helped.
The presence of the Lord was all around me, cheering me, reassuring me. I was so aware of His hand on me, His guidance, His mercy.
Perhaps He made it rough on me that first twenty-four hours so that I would early on begin to fix my eyes on Him and discover His nearness, His availability . . . .
Maybe you're saying, "Be practical, Anne. How do I get this habit of being continually aware of Him?"
Well, I'm still learning myself, but I do have two suggestions.
First, ask Him. I know what I do when left to myself: I'm "prone to wander -- Lord, I feel it! prone to leave the God I love." Ask Him. He loves you to.
Second, cooperate with Him. Vote against your natural waywardness! Keep prompting yourself, to form the habit.
Ray writes "PTP" (Practice the Presence) on sticky notes and plasters them on his dashboard, desk, mirror.
If he feels he's really forgetting too much, he sets his wristwatch alarm to go off every fifteen minutes.
I know a housewife who's conditioned herself to remember the Lord whenever she walks through her kitchen door.
I know a working gal who hears Westminster chimes every fifteen minutes from a nearby city clock, and she sings with it her own words: "I love You, Lord; Lord You are here . . ."
And when you're conscious of Him, what do you do?
Talk. "Pray continually," says 1 Thessalonians 5:17:
"Help me in what I'm doing right now . . . ."
"I love You, Lord . . . ."
"Forgive me . . . ."
"Bless the person I'm talking to . . . ."
Catch the flavor of Nehemiah's inner habit:
The king said to me, "What is it you want?" Then I prayed to the God of heaven, and I answered the king . . .(Nehemiah 2:4-5).
Or again,
All Judah brought the tithes of grain, new wine and oil into the storerooms. I put [certain men] in charge . . . . Remember me for this, O my God (Nehemiah 13:12-14).
It's the happiest, most comfortable life possible, keeping a running conversation going with Him. He loves it, you love it.
Think of a sponge plunged into the ocean. It soaks up the sea water until it's totally saturated. Yet -- it's still a sponge.
Think of yourself, fixing your eyes on Jesus. You're plunged into an awareness of His presence, surrounding you wherever you go. You "soak up" the Lord and all His characteristics until you're saturated. And yet you're still you.
But this habit doesn't just "happen." It begins with desire, and it continues with discipline. It's not just automatic, it's learned -- like somebody's being initiated into a fraternity or sorority, until they're at last in the fellowship:
Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you, who walk in the light of your presence, O Lord.
They rejoice in your name all the day long; they exult in your righteousness. For you are their glory and strength (Psalm 89:15-17).
The ocean becomes the sponge's very own wateriness and saltiness.
The Lord becomes your very own glory and strength. You receive all your achievements, your happiness, your wellbeing from what is continually surrounding you: the presence of God Himself. You're soaking Him up!
Then start right now. And check in ten minutes from now, and ten minutes after that . . . . The presence of God in your life will become your glory and your strength.
Moses insisted on it (Exodus 33:15).
David wouldn't live without it (Psalm 27:8).
If you don't have this glory and this strength, my friend, then you're pretty much like any other wife or bank teller or mother or corporation employee or whatever. It's either the presence of God in your life --
purifying
empowering
continual
-- or else it's just you alone trying to do the best you can. And that just doesn't make it.
Does the thought of practicing His presence seem burdensome to you? Do a bird's wings weigh it down?
Do yourself a favor . . . Do your emotions a favor . . . Do your physical body a favor: Fix your eyes continually on Jesus.
Maybe the reason angels live forever is because their eyes are always on Him.
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Prayer:
Lord, as I keep reading this book, may I be most conscious neither of Anne Ortlund nor of myself; may I be most conscious of You. Keep me looking at You, Lord. Teach me -- by means of these words or in spite of these words; may the teaching come primarily from You.
Throughout the reading of the book, Lord, and then afterwards when I move on to other things, may I be a sponge in sea water, soaking You up! Help me to maintain the habit, both now and in the future. Keep my eyes fixed on You! In Your name, amen.
* * * * *
Never separate yourself from God.
How sweet it is
to live always near those who love us!
--Gold Dust
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