The other day I was busy bodying about my day and had a lot on my mind. I kept passing by my Bible which lay open on my kitchen table and every time I walked by it, I would quietly say in my head, "I'll get to you, I'll be right there, God."
And another hour would pass by.
"I know, I know..." I would say. "I'm coming." With that, several more paces past it.
Finally, as I was cooking over the stove, right next to my opened Bible, I said "I'm coming for you God. I'll be right there. Don't you worry, I'm coming for ya."
Then it hit me. I am not coming 𝙛𝙤𝙧 God. No, not at all. In fact, He came 𝙛𝙤𝙧 me. He came to Earth in the form of His son Jesus, to have relationship with me. I don't need to come 𝙛𝙤𝙧 Him as the popular expression goes, but rather, I need to come 𝙩𝙤 Him. I needed to just "come."
I envisioned Him opening His arms, as He did to Peter when He was walking on the water, beckoning Him to simply: "Come."
Come.
He is there.
He is.
He was.
He will be.
He bids us to come.
"Here I am, Lord. I come."