Unfinished Faith: Relearning God.

Week 30:

The bit where I introduce:

Not as a rhetorical question, but one worth sitting with for a moment…

When was the last time you spent time with God simply because you wanted to?

Not because it was part of your Bible reading plan, because Sunday had rolled around, because life had fallen apart and you desperately needed Him to intervene, or because a devotional landed in your inbox. Not because you were preparing to lead, teach or encourage someone else.

I mean the kind of time where you’ve found yourself with a spare moment and, instead of reaching for your phone, tackling another job on the never-ending to-do list, or filling the silence with something else, you chose to be with Him. No agenda. No script. No pressure to achieve anything. Just you and God.

Please don’t misunderstand me. Those rhythms of reading Scripture, gathering with the church, praying through hardship and learning from others are good gifts. Keep doing them. They shape us in ways we often don’t realise.

But somewhere along the way, many of us can begin to relate to God almost entirely through routines or responsibilities. We can become so accustomed to doing things for Him that we quietly neglect simply being with Him.

Maybe it’s been days. Maybe weeks. Months. Perhaps, if you’re honest, even years.

There’s a quote that regularly stops me in my tracks:

“Sometimes we get so busy doing things for God that we forget just to be with Him.”

I wonder if that’s one of the quiet challenges of our culture. We celebrate productivity, achievement and visible success. We often measure our days by what we’ve accomplished. Yet Psalm 27 gently invites us to ask a different question.

The bit where I refer to the Bible and ask a few questions:

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.” (Psalm 27:4) Read the whole Psalm…

David’s words become even more remarkable when we remember the context. In my research this week, I discovered bible scholars can’t say exactly when he wrote this psalm, it appears to have been during one of the darkest periods of his life, either while Saul relentlessly pursued him or during Absalom’s rebellion. His future was uncertain, his reputation under attack, and his life genuinely at risk.

Yet David doesn’t begin by rehearsing his fears. He begins by reminding himself who God is.

I often tell myself my prayers should start there too. More often than I’d like to admit, they don’t.

David was a king carrying enormous responsibility, but long before that he was a shepherd. He spent countless hours alone in the fields, tending sheep with little more than a harp and the company of God. Perhaps those quiet years shaped the deepest desire of his heart.

Notice what David doesn’t ask for. He doesn’t ask first for safety, vindication or even victory over his enemies.

He asks for God.

His greatest longing isn’t simply for his circumstances to improve but for his relationship with God to deepen.

It reminds me of Mary sitting at Jesus’ feet while Martha busied herself with serving (Luke 10:38–42) (a previous devotion) Jesus didn’t dismiss service, but He did remind Martha that Mary had chosen “what is better.” Presence came before productivity.

When I think back over my own life, the times I’ve spent (I admit there could have been more) with Jesus simply because I wanted to, not to prepare something, not because I needed an answer, but just to be with Him, I have almost always walked away lighter. My circumstances haven’t necessarily changed, but somehow, I have.

He gently reminds me of His faithfulness through every chapter of my messy life. My perspective shifts. My anxious thoughts lose some of their grip. I’m reminded again that He is already carrying what I was trying so hard to hold.

It’s so easy to approach God primarily as the One who solves problems: to heal relationships, provide direction, answer prayers or carry us through suffering. He absolutely invites us to bring those requests to Him.

But Psalm 27 quietly reminds us that the greatest gift God offers isn’t merely what He can do for us.

It is Himself.

Sometimes prayer doesn’t need to begin with a list of requests. Sometimes it begins with gratitude. Sometimes it sounds like, “Jesus, I just wanted to be with You today.” Sometimes it is simply honest enough to say, “I’m tired,” “I’m struggling,” or “I don’t know what to pray.” He is not intimidated by our vulnerability.

Psalm 27 reminds us that devotion isn’t an escape from life’s difficulties. It is the place where our fears are slowly reoriented by God’s presence and where trust begins to grow, often long before our circumstances change.

I would hazard a guess that every one of us will need that kind of quiet communion with God at some point. Maybe not because everything is falling apart, but because, in the middle of ordinary life, our souls simply need to remember that before we are servants, leaders, parents, spouses or friends, we are first His beloved children.

Perhaps that’s what Jesus has always wanted, not first our productivity, our ministry or our accomplishments, but our hearts. Our attention. Our devotion.

Just us, uninterrupted, with Him.

The bit where you get to think about stuff: Questions for the week.

What occupies my thoughts more, my circumstances or God’s character?

What is my “one thing” at this stage of life?

Where is God inviting me to wait with trust rather than rush ahead in my own strength?