This one is going to be a little different than how I usually write. It will be more personal and direct. I will be more open to how the Lord has been leading me the past few months.

If I’m honest, I currently don’t know what to write about. And that is not because The Lord hasn’t been speaking or revealing to me. But because what He is, hasn’t been producing inward change…

It’s frustrating. The past Sunday sermons have been so rich and crucial to the nurturing of our faith. His Word is alive and active, sharper than a two-edged blade. Divides the soul, spirit, joints, and marrow. It judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart (our inward being) (Hebrews 4: 12).

The Word of God is so beautiful that it will create tension between what is worthy to offer Him and what He desires to prune. The Word of God is the embodiment of the Trinity, where God speaks His heart and will, in which Jesus manifests, and by the Spirit that allows us to see, feel, touch, and hear. The Word of God activates our every sense that at its authority we can be alive again.

Pathetically speaking, it hasn’t moved me the way it should.

In my barrenness, I’ve only realized that He is still watering me. I may not be in a season of bearing fruit, but I know that I am definitely still abiding.

As I was reflecting on one Sunday sermon, The Lord allowed me to write this prayer/poem. I was led into this holy grief. You can make this as a prayer as well.

Sunday Sermon
I listen, pay attention
I bring a notebook and pen
Ready to write
But not to receive

I understand but I’m not convicted
I’m brought to tears but not to repentance
It goes in one ear and out of the other
I bring an altar but no offering

Why’d You waste Your Word on me?
When a crop I wouldn’t yield
Where no fruits grow out of me

Cause it’s so hard to believe
You keep sowing empty seeds
In the grounds of unbelief

Rocky roads that don’t go deep
All the layers out of reach
Or the thorns that choke and bleed
It’s Sunday Sermon
It’s just a routine…

No words that You ever speak
Return to You emptily
You’re a King with a decree

Where barren lands is all I see
Your hands will change the scene
Until rivers flow out of me