“Through him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God,
that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name. “
~ Heb. 13:15, ESV
It was a pretty pitiful scene. In one corner of the house, I sat on my bed clutching the pepto-pink trash can, barely enough strength to be upright. In the other corner, my son crying over a hard-won battle that fell into computer abyss. Sweet victory turned sting of defeat. And my husband was out getting groceries, so unavailable to offer comfort to either one of us.
I sat there weak and helpless on my bed, the sound of my son’s unaddressed disappointment well in ear shot but out of my realistic reach. And I couldn’t help but second-guess a self description I’d penned just a day or two before. I described myself as “one who’s learned how to live in survival mode – and even worship there.”
"Are you kidding me?," I thought. "Have I really learned that?
What about this trying-to-survive moment right here and now?"
In entered His grace with this thought:
My dependence is my worship.
My helplessness reminds me that I need a Savior – for eternity, and for the here and now. Every time I acknowledge that I am not self-sufficient, but instead incapable and desperately needy, I worship. I worship by removing my [perceived] ability off the throne of my life, and bowing down to the only One Who is worthy of that throne. Worthy of my trust. And welcoming of my desperation.
That desperation has been one of my primary places of worship in this hard season. That choice to bow down and trust Him instead of myself. That choice to surrender. That choice to invite His grace into my need.
Again. And again. And again.
In my desperation, my dependence is my worship.
And can be yours as well.
Picture compliments of Aaron Burden
