During one of the Vineyard’s Open Prayer & Worship mornings, I was delighting in the concept of dwelling with God. During previous teachings, I had considered resting with God as sitting under His shade; as if the Lord was a large tree, and the closer we get, the more we are covered by His goodness and love. As I sat meditating on this, basking in God’s shade, I was overcome with peace - the true kind of resting in Him. As I dwelled there, listening to the Spirit, I was given the visuals and words described in this following poem. I scribbled them down. Prayer is like walking right up to the feet of the throne. Prayer puts us right at the table with The Father. Prayer is how we bring others to the feet of Jesus. His presence brings us rest. 

I shaped these words to describe what it is like to meet with God in His House. This describes how He treats us, and the treats He offers - the promises of God. I hope you can relate to what it feels like to be - dwell - in the Father’s House.

Tonight, I am weary, heavy, and tired;

I am going to rest in the Father’s house.

I am hungry, thirsty, and searching.

I am going to the Father’s house for dinner.

 

I don’t have to knock,

The invitation is open;

He leaves the door unlocked.

 

I push it open easily, step inside.

 

Thanks and praises are ringing in the halls.

A song is singing thoughtful melodies,

Proclaiming goodness and power.

 

My tension lifts like a coat from the shoulders,

There’s no room for guilt and shame.

I don’t hang them on the coat rack as I enter,

Don’t settle them to be picked up again later as I leave, no –

I toss them in the fireplace.

 

I am suddenly sustained,

shuffled into slippers of peace.

This feels like rest -

A relieving low-light on tired eyes -

Like warmth;

A tight hug releasing many lonely nights.

 

Everything is ancient but solid –

timelessness is all around.

 

In the corner is the Throne,

“Daddy’s chair”,

And while I feel I’m not even worthy to be his footstool,

He still asks me to sit near;

With smiles, His arms are open,

He shakes His head,

declares us worthy,

and calls us close.

 

This presence is like a dense cloud,

pressing to every corner,

resting on us

like pillows,

smothering, comforting, embracing,

pressing in.

 

He waves an arm to the great table,

It smells sweet,

It smells savory,

It smells like…justice.

His holiness is fragrant,

Delicious power and beauty are already being served.

We are welcomed in adoration and celebration.

 

There are many more coming

And He is handing us silverware,

He asks us to set the table!

He’s left a task for everyone arriving,

And we are busy in His invitations.

 

Once we sit, He is already there,

Goblets are filling to the brim with love,

And we sip on the sweet purity of truth.

He is serving mercy by the spoonful.

A dollop of grace on every plate –

There’s enough, there’s enough!

Hallelujah, the dishes never run out!

 

In the Father’s house we are nourished,

In the Father’s house we are seen.

There is no loneliness or wondering,

Just the intense feeling that we belong.

The Father’s been waiting excitedly to see us,

And today His patience met us at the door.

 

He never complains when we finally visit,

He’s delighted when we bring friends,

And after we are full, delighted and satisfied,

There is gentleness as we retire,

Not wanting to leave our Father’s side.

 

But soon, we must go.

 

The Father has poured in, yes,

But only for us to return to hard places

And pour out.

 

He invites us to come back,

We don’t have to wait until we are empty;

But the sooner we pour,

The more He can bless.

 

We are always welcome in the Father’s house;

It is vast and there’s no end to the rooms.

 

But as I leave restored,

The thought of disconnecting unbearable -

I recall what He has given, (and all the more, installed);

The sweet thought comes to mind

That the Father has set up His own room

In me.

 

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