This morning was one of those mornings.
Taxes. A situation with my kids. The kind of real-life weight that doesn’t care what day of the week it is or what you have planned. It just sits there.
I didn’t open my Bible with a plan. I didn’t start a structured time of prayer. I just picked up my guitar and started playing a melody. Nothing intentional at first — just my hands moving, the melody evolving, and somewhere in that process a song started coming out.
Away from it all / I hear the call / Come away with me…
I’ve taught on presence. I’ve talked about what it means to be loved by the Father the way Jesus is loved. I believe all of it. But this morning I wasn’t teaching anyone anything. I was the one who needed to come away.
And that’s the thing about God’s invitation — it doesn’t wait for you to have it together first. It meets you in the overwhelm. It finds you in the middle of the taxes and the hard conversations and the weight nobody else fully sees.
Where time has no bounds / No distractions or sounds…
That line came out of something I genuinely needed. A place where the urgency stops. Where I’m not managing anything or performing for anyone. Just present. Just known.
That’s not escapism. That’s what we were made for.
The ministry of reconciliation I talk about — being accepted by the Father, loving others from that place — it only works if I keep returning to it myself. Not as a concept. As a daily, sometimes desperate, act of trust.
This morning the song was the prayer.
Maybe you needed to hear that today. Maybe your morning looked something like mine.
He’s still saying come away. Even now. Especially now.