Last night I drove 83 miles to go to a worship night in Charlotte.
And before I went, I almost talked myself out of it.
I was tired.
Not just I could use a nap tired either. My mind was tired. I had been thinking about a lot. What I’m building. What God has actually called me to do. Whether I’m spending my time on the right things. Whether some of the things I’m doing are assignments from God or just good ideas.
You know, light stuff.
And I think part of me wondered if I should even go.
Because I didn’t want to drive all the way to Charlotte, have this big emotional experience in worship, cry, feel God, come home and then wake up the next morning like…
Okay.
Now what?
My questions would still be here.
My life would still be here.
And I’ve been walking with God long enough to know that feeling something deeply in a room doesn’t necessarily mean everything changes when you walk out of it.
But the more I thought about whether I should go, there was one thing I kept coming back to:
I just wanted to be in that room.
I wasn’t going because I expected to leave with an answer.
And I knew I didn’t have to drive to Charlotte for God to meet me.
I just wanted to be in a room full of people worshiping God.
So I went.
Eighty-three miles.
And somewhere along the way, I think I stopped needing the night to accomplish something.
That’s hard for me sometimes.
I can turn almost anything into something that needs to produce a result.
Prayer needs to give me clarity.
Fasting needs to produce an answer.
Worship needs to make me feel different.
If I’m going to drive 83 miles, surely something significant needs to happen when I get there.
But maybe worship doesn’t always need a measurable outcome.
There is a moment in Psalm 84:
“For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand.”
Psalm 84:10, KJV
I’ve heard that verse plenty of times.
Last night I understood a little more of what it means to simply want to be there.
There were no notes for me to take.
Nothing for me to build.
Nothing for me to write.
I wasn’t the person with the microphone. I wasn’t working on a website, thinking about a book, planning something, or trying to figure out what comes next.
I could just worship.
And it was good to be in that room.
I don’t mean that everything I had been thinking about disappeared. I didn’t drive back home with every question answered.
But maybe every question didn’t need an answer last night.
Maybe sometimes you press your way somewhere, not because something spectacular is waiting for you when you arrive, but because there are places that remind you where your attention belongs.
Last night, for me, that was a room in Charlotte.
I drove 83 miles to get there.
And I’m glad I did.
Not because I came home with some big revelation.
I just needed to be in that room.