I have too often settled for too little. I want more. More consciousness of Your presence. More fullness of Your Spirit. More taste of Your goodness. More strength in Your joy. More insight into Your Word. More of the pleasing pain of Your purifying gaze. More love for Your people, for the world You died to redeem.
Why do I trifle with trivialities? Why do I make mud pies in the slum, rather than run on the beach, the shores of Your ocean-like love? Why don't I plunge in?
I remember when You came to me in a dark basement bedroom. I surrendered all and You filled me with joy unspeakable and full of glory. I sang. I danced. I laughed. I cried. You had never been more real to me. I wanted to never lose the sense of Your smile again.
But I did.
And moments like those have been too seldom.
How much have I robbed from my wife, my children, my flock, by not being more with You, having more of You? By You not having more of me? How much more could we all experience of Your grace, Your love? You beckon us to Your table to take our fill of solid joys and lasting treasures. Why do we -- do I -- fritter my energies away on vain pursuits? Why do I spoil my appetite with pleasures that fade so fast?
I want more of You. I'm sorry I've been so slow to believe Your promises. So disinclined to seek Your face. So hard of heart. I've been blind to Your beauty, deaf to Your song, too stuffed with the junk-food of the world to taste and see that You are good. I've tried to slake soul thirst with cisterns, broken, empty, disappointing.
But You are the fountain of living water. You offer a well springing up to eternal life. You beckon me to come, to drink freely, without money, without price.
If I knew You as You really are, I would have asked for more.
I'm asking now.
More, Lord. Give me more.