Refilling

Good morning, Father.

You kept me through the night, through the midst of bad dreams and minor stress. I woke this morning battling my demons, my idols dancing ugly in my mind. Residual dregs of my mood from the night before lingered—this bruised feeling.

Father, I am weary of the battle against my idols, against the emptiness that comes because I forget and neglect coming to you for your filling. I am so tired of dancing with these idols—they wear me out. They suck the life right out of me.

Your Spirit reminded me you offer new mercies each morning. You supply salve for the bruising and balm for the soreness. And you set me free. Every morning.

At night I often go to bed empty. The contents of me spilled, spent or poured out during the day. And when I wake you await (Why, Oh God, would you wait for me? It is I who should always be waiting for you!) ready to pour your grace—pressed down, shaken together and running over—into me.

And then I am no longer empty. I am no longer an empty water jar, but instead am filled.

This morning, this day, help us to come to you long before we are empty, long before the contents of us are broken and scattered, spilled and spent.

Holy Spirit, remind us to ask for a refilling before the bottom is dry. Remind us we can’t fight battles empty.

Amen and amen.