Banging on the Door

God wants to meet me alone in the dark.
He wants me to go into a quiet place, to shut the door, and to concentrate on Him alone.
No distractions, no interruptions.

When you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen.  Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.--Matthew 6:6

And then He sends me life.
A thousand details.
Every day.
Like toddlers banging on the bathroom door they come, crying, "Me, me, me..."

Make beds.  Do dishes. Change diapers. Check off lists. Make appointments. Drive someone to practice. Return phone calls. Kiss an owie. Pack a lunch. Dust.

And He sends all this stuff on purpose.
He does it to teach me to love Him.

He knows that love is born in details.
When I do something big, something significant for God, I learn to love the act, not Him, or love the result or, worse yet, myself.
"Thank you for this opportunity to serve you, God and, by the way, look at the cool thing I did. Didn't I do a good job?"
On the other hand, a temporarily dry bottom or the top of a refrigerator finally wiped clean or a prayer said on the way to the grocery never inspires such obvious congratulation.

In small works of devotion, the ones invisible to all but God Himself, we encounter Him alone.
He sent me these responsibilities.  He put them in my path.  They come from Him as gifts for communion.
And they make me more like Him.

Small, insignificant tasks become, if I let them, the prayers I say without ceasing.
Whatever you do, whether word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to the Father through Him.--Colossians 3:17