I stood in worship and cried.
I raised my hands and cried. I couldn’t sing but I cried. Those tears and trembling hands were my worship. They were what I had to give in that moment.
As I looked around the room I saw people on their knees, on their backs, on their faces. I saw people pouring their hearts into the music and I saw people with their heads bowed in silence. I saw a desperation for Jesus. I felt it. My heart was left raw and open yet completely healed and full.
I desire to worship.
Genuinely. Passionately. Desperately.
God deserves my heart. He deserves my unashamed songs of praise. He deserves more than memorized lyrics and complacency.
I am given the opportunity to worship the One who hung the stars. The One who makes the darkness flee. The One who whispered my name as He hovered over the empty and formless earth.
And He doesn’t want my lukewarm praise.
He wants my heart. Open and bleeding. He wants my tears and raised hands. He wants the prayer of my heart when spoken words are too much.
I am done taking His presence for granted. I am done being okay with meaningless praise. I am done being complacent when the God of the universe gives me His attention.
I was created to worship wholeheartedly and doing so is the only way my heart will ever truly become full. Unashamed tears, desperation, and shaking hands if that’s what it takes.