I need him like I need the signals between my brain and lungs to remind me to breathe, even when I am in a deep sleep.
I need him, desperately, in the moments I’ve been holding my breath, striving to reach the surface, and my whole body hurts from the lack of him supplying my soul with himself.
I need him to push out the poison of what I create in myself as he pushes in, life-giver, leading me to one more moment in which I need him.
My need for him is my gift from him.
I need Jesus like I need oxygen and small moments reminding me to breathe – in through your nose, out through your mouth. Yes, you are running . . . out of breath, but you can still breathe. It takes focus and intention and calm. I need the calm. I need Jesus in the running and in the resting and in the racing and in the calm.
I need Jesus like I need to raise my arms, opening my lungs to receive the breath to sustain my life – I need to raise my arms and say – I am out of breath, and it hurts. Me. Right here. I need more of you in this moment.
I’ve been running fast and I forgot to breathe and now . . . You can fill me and revive me. I need you to revive me.
I need you, Jesus. In this moment and in the moments I forget to need you.
I need you like I need oxygen and slow, deep breaths.
That’s right, now. Slow, deep, breaths.
There, you see?
Our need for him is our gift from him.
There is always more of God.