Or rather, I can't.
God, that is. I haven't felt Him lately. I haven't even remembered that I haven't felt Him.
I know it's time for a God encounter, to step into that bedchamber, just He and I. To feel His warmth, Spirit breath, searching me out. It's only been a day or so, but that's too long. I miss Him the way I miss my husband. I crave His touch, I crave the Power. I crave the Love.
I remember life being lived not even knowing about God encounters. Me, the life-long Christian, had no idea what it was like to be in His presence. Prayer was short, shallow, demanding. It danced along the edges of eternity never really stepping into that Glorious Abyss. I didn't know the Abyss existed.
I remember life being lived when months and months and months went by without a God encounter. Jesus and I had our first time together, and it was so powerful I didn't tell anyone for fear they think me mad.
Even though this was madness I truly wanted, the madness the Bible talks about. I still wasn't sure I was ready to embrace being a "peculiar people".
Life went on, the heaviness of parenting autism fell upon me, and I forgot.
I forgot my first Love.
And so it was. Me, the life I thought mattered, and no Abyss. No Jesus depth to fall into.
And then He took her. My daughter.
I had two choices.
Either I fall into my own abyss, the bad kind, the one that seemed effortless and was practically begging me to let it wash me away. Darkness, bitterness, anger. They all tried to seduce me. I wanted to go with them.
Or I fall into Jesus. His deep love, so deep I wouldn't find the bottom. Endless, swimming in Spirit and never wanting to come up for air. This Abyss was full of Light. It promised freedom. I wanted to be free.
The choice might seem difficult to some, obvious to others. But the sacrifice required of me to be able to fall into Jesus Abyss, to be able to return to my first Love, to be able to have a God encounter again? It was vital. It was terrifying. It had to happen.
So I chose His deep waters, His marvelous Light, I swim and I float and I don't miss the darkness.
Sometimes that darkness tries to steal me, tries to lie to me saying its quiet, dry, evil ways are easier and more satisfying.
But then I have another encounter, the Jesus-took-my-breath-away-again, kind of encounter. And it's the opposite of dry. And I feel the glorious angst of the Skin Prison, and I know.
This is what He wanted all along.