Inside, I was anticipating my time with the Lord as well as the unfolding of my day. Outside, there was just a glow on the horizon, the promise of a new day coming, full of life and unknown possibilities. I had this thought, and I spoke it aloud: “The womb of the morning.” I don’t think I had ever heard such a thought expressed. I repeated it several times, thinking of the beauty and mystery it suggested.
I picked up my bowl of porridge and goblet of kombucha and moved into the east-facing front room. The glow on the horizon was a small arch of gold, transitioning into a larger turquoise arch, which deepened in turn gradually into dark blue-black. Through that arch, the new day would be ushered in.
It was with reverence that I quietly took my place on the couch. There was a holy hush I didn’t want to disturb. And my mind was pregnant with images and inspirations springing from that thought I’d had. I opened my Bible and spent some time with God.
Two days later, as I settled into that spot again, thinking once more of that powerful phrase, the Lord spoke to my heart: “Aren’t you going to kneel down for a few minutes first?”
This is a suggestion that Dallas Willard makes in his writings, to spend a little time on one’s knees at the beginning of a visit with God. I often do this but hadn’t this morning. Now I was already very comfortable on the couch, but “prompt obedience” is something the Lord has been highlighting to me lately.
I responded, “Yes sir!” and then knelt at the end of the couch, laying my Amplified Classic on the arm. Opening where I’d left off in 1 Corinthians, I began to read. But it didn’t seem the right thing to read at that moment. I should read, aloud, in Psalms, I thought. Lots of good words of prayer and devotion and praise in there. I cut the volume open approximately where I knew that particular book would be and found myself at Psalm 110. I began to read aloud at the first verse. The third verse stopped me short.
“Your people will offer themselves willingly in the day of Your power, in the beauty of holiness and in holy array out of the womb of the morning ....”
I was astonished. I hadn’t known that phrase was in the Bible. Taking in the wonder of this “coincidence” as another glorious day dawned around me, I was completely distracted from the usual context of my quiet time. Still on my knees, I waited, quietly thanking God, sometimes wordlessly, from an overflowing heart.
After a while, I continued on reading, still aloud, bits and pieces of the next few Psalms. All at once I found myself repeating words that were very familiar. It was Psalm 116. I had written a song 40 years earlier, taken directly from the first nine verses in the King James Version. Speaking the words aloud was a lovely way to bask in the gratitude of God’s goodness, especially thinking back to what these verses meant to me when I put them to music so many years ago.
I love the Lord because he hath heard my voice
and my supplications.
Because he hath inclined his ear unto me,
therefore will I call upon him as long as I live.
The sorrows of death compassed me,
and the pains of hell got hold on me:
I found trouble and sorrow.
Then called I upon the name of the Lord;
Lord , I beseech thee, deliver my soul.
Gracious is the Lord, and righteous;
yea, our God is merciful.
The Lord preserveth the simple:
I was brought low, and he helped me.
Return unto thy rest, O my soul;
for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee.
For He hast delivered my soul from death,
mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.
I will walk before the Lord
in the land of the living.
On a whim, I got out my guitar—something I rarely do anymore, and I sang that beautiful old song, several times. From there I sang another I had written, which begins with the first verse of Psalm 40 and then draws phrases from all over the Bible.
And then suddenly I began to sing a new song called “In the Womb of the Morning,” the first song I’ve written in eleven years.
In the womb of the morning
Lord, You are here
And I’m sitting, desiring
For Your voice to hear
The words of Your mouth
Oh, they sustain and nourish me
So I’m waiting in anticipation
For You speak to me
In the womb of the morning
The sun’s getting ready to rise
And its rays will go out like the word of God
Resonating through the skies
It’s a picture of You, Lord
Presiding over all
Bringing warmth and comfort
Restoring us when we fall
The day may stretch ahead
With challenges I dread
But everything I fear
You defeat when You are near, yes!
In the womb of the morning
Lord, You are here
In the womb of the morning
You are bringing forth the day
And I get on my knees and bow my heart
And submit to you my way
All my troubles and worries
At Your feet I lay
Lord, You are the ruler of my life
And I like it that way
* * * * * * * *
Part 2
Just a couple of weeks after having this experience, something else happened that enlarged my understanding of it. Again I had come downstairs to have my quiet time. I had barely got settled on the couch in the front room when I heard my husband getting up. I had slept a little later than usual, so this was not surprising. But I felt myself bracing internally for the inevitable noises and interruptions. I feared that soon there wouldn’t be much room to think and listen.
Rachel was staying with us for a few days, and now I heard her getting up as well. Before long, both she and her dad were in the kitchen, making coffee, talking and laughing. It’s not that they were being unusually loud; it was just that in this special, holy time of the day when I had thought to be strengthening my soul in God’s presence, it was complete abrasive.
The “womb of the morning” was shredded. It could not support and nurture life. It could not gestate the life of the Son of God in me. And that was when I realized something: the walls of that Womb are comprised of silence and solitude.
I am sorry for the violent image, but when a womb is slashed open, it cannot sustain life. All that was taking shape there spills out and is lost. It is not irretrievable; if one acts quickly and decisively, that space can be be restored. Fragments of thoughts can be recovered and rooted back in.
But in addition to nurturing the Life of God in me, I have the God-given responsibility and privilege of nurturing my husband and daughter and my relationship with them. I would go out into the kitchen and join them, and I would pick up, a little later, where I left off with God.
It is no coincidence that silence and solitude are two of the foundational spiritual disciplines. They establish a physical and mental place where we can transact with God. And yet silence and solitude have become increasingly alien in this world. Unless we contend for it, we will never have a moment of either. Even when we are silent, our thoughts are not quiet. Even when we are alone, we are not alone.
Our phones are always with us, and we turn to them and fritter our time away with pithy, temporal distractions that will not ultimately enrich our lives in any way. Many of us, if we found ourselves in a womb of silence and solitude, would be so disoriented and uncomfortable that we would leap back out at the first opportunity. We ourselves would be the ones to slash open that nurturing, life-giving sanctuary.
But if we will, little by little, learn to say no to our flesh and its constant demand for stimulation; if we will taste a little of the Lord and see that He is indeed good (Psalm 34:8)—and so cultivate a taste for more; if we will practice a little bit and then a little bit more of being alone and being truly quiet; if we will come to Him early in the day and accustom ourselves to sitting peacefully with Him, we will find that, like the song says, “In the womb of the morning, Lord, You are here.”
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