Recently I was standing beside my newborn daughter’s crib, cradling her in my arms and rocking her back and forth. I was trying to soothe her down for a little nap, and I was suddenly so overcome with glad emotion that God had made this barren woman a mother….again.
As I swayed gently with her in the dim light, I began to sing softly to my Heavenly Father, filled with joy and marvel at this precious pink bundle that He had given to me.
I was singing and humming and began to be caught up in worshiping the Lord:
“Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, worthy is the Lamb who was slain!
Highest praises, honor and glory, be unto Your name…be unto Your name..”
Before I could finish these words, I stopped singing.
How many days had it been since I had read my Bible? I hadn’t made it to church yet since the baby was born. I was wearing pajama pants and a shirt covered in spit up….from yesterday, I think. I had been wrestling with those crazy postpartum hormones (and losing), and I’d lost it (again) with my husband and my preschooler.
Until I could get myself together a bit more and find the wherewithal in this season of newborn-fog to spend time confessing my sins, and until I could get back into the scripture and spend time in prayer, I had no business worshiping before the throne of the Lord God Almighty. I was in no way worthy to echo the words of that song that the throng of heaven cries out in worship before Him who is seated on the throne (Revelation 4:8-11).
I would have to pay penance for my stumbling and sin. Some time would have to elapse before I could freely and unashamedly approach the Father in worship and praise. I would have to come to the Lord as a slave rather than as a son, for I had lost the privilege to enter His presence with emotion, affection, boldness, and joy….
