May 23, 2017

April 25, 2017

April 13, 2017

April 4, 2017

March 28, 2017

March 22, 2017

Please reload

Recent Posts

A Worshipper's Prayer

Every now and then I have a crazy dream. It doesn’t matter where I am or

what I am doing in the dream, all at once I realize I am naked.


The strange thing about these dreams is that everyone else seems to realize

I’m naked at the same time I do, so immediately, I grab whatever is nearby

and cover myself.


Worship happens when I find myself spiritually naked before God. No secrets.

Nothing to hide. He knows me inside and out, and He loves me.


“A Worshipper’s Prayer” brings me to that poor in spirit place, that spiritual destitution that exposes every part of me to the Wondrous God Who created me with love and intention, knowing that the darkest places within me would deny Him and betray Him.


That’s the God we worship. The God Who loves us in spite of ourselves. Worship goes beyond the stark dichotomy of God’s infinite love and our failings. Worship is giving back to God, and giving Him everything.


After all, all we are and all we have is His.




The purest image of worship I can paint is a young boy I met in Africa.


My parents were missionaries in Zimbabwe when it was called Rhodesia. One Sunday in a remote village, we were gathered together for worship. There was singing and dancing, praying, and preaching, then there was the offering.


Offering was nothing like passing the plate while listening to an organ or the worship band. In this village, the people would dance and sing during the offering time. Men would beat the drums and play thumb harps.


If they were fortunate, someone might have a guitar, and the women would dance. The dance would move around and through the whole gathering. A small cloud of dust would rise as we worshipped outside while trying to beg shade from a Baobab tree.


As the dance moved, anyone with a gift would drop it in a large winnowing basket at the front of the gathering. The offering could last 20 minutes or longer.


One Sunday, the dancing stopped. The music slowed and stopped, and the dust began to settle. A young boy, about 9 or 10 years old sat in the basket.


My father was a medical missionary, but that particular weekend, he was speaking. He knelt in front of the boy and asked, “What are you doing?”


The boy held up his empty hands and said, “I have nothing to give, so I give myself.”


When I think of pure, unadulterated worship, I think of that boy with nothing who gave everything.


When I sing “so here I am,” I picture myself as that little boy, arms wide open, nothing to give, nothing to lose, everything to gain. “Once again, I’m even more amazed.”


Click below to listen to the song:



Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Please reload

Please reload

Please reload

Like what you're reading?

Subscribe to our mailing list to never miss a post!