Visitation vs. Habitation

How many of us want a visit from God? That would be great, right? Imagine—God drops by, we exchange pleasantries, hugs, stories, a few tears, and then He leaves. This is what most want. We don’t want the Lord to actually live with us.

That’s why Jesus had to sleep in the mountains. Folk wanted prayer, healing, and food, but they did not want Jesus like that. Who wants their everyday life scrutinized? Can you imagine?

Think about what I’m saying. When you have guests in the house, you can’t just be yourself. Everything is so neat and clean. The house smells good, you have on your best clothes and a perfect smile. You go to the bathroom to burp and make sure the toilet is flushed. After a few days, you want those folk to leave so you can pull your bra off, eat some greasy food, pick your nose, lay on the couch, and scroll social media. You’re comfortable in your home when there are no visitors.

The more I delve into the making of me and how to release some things, I realized I didn’t want the Father to dwell with me—because He would see the ugly part of me, and I couldn’t bear that. The part that gets mad too easily. The part that is emotionally immature. The part that just wants to do nothing after work. I don’t always wanna pray. I don’t wanna perform or put on my best face! I just wanna be.

Can’t I just be?

I love to talk about Jesus and Holy Spirit—they seem nice and comforting—but when it came to The Father, I kinda stayed clear. I stayed clear because my own father was not nice. I loved to see him leave. I was free to just be when he was out with drinking buddies or walking to the liquor store. No eggshells. No mask. I didn’t need to perform to be accepted if he wasn’t home.

I see now that after my father died, I slid God neatly into his place. I would never say it. How could I? I wouldn’t be a good Christian if I told the truth about a real struggle. I have enough to contend with, being eccentric and outspoken. So I toed the line.

I’d give all my prayers, pain, and hurt to Jesus, and He could talk to the Father for me. I would even commune with the Holy Spirit—He understands, He knows me, He’s here to help me. But not the Father. I was afraid of Him. I thought He would reject me like my natural father. I thought He would see too many flaws and that maybe—just maybe—He had made a mistake.

I thought I couldn’t just be. I would have to perform, even at home!

I was wrong.

He is not like June. He’s not like my natural father. He’s not looking for a reason to hit me. He’s not looking for a reason to reject me or say something cruel and damaging. The Father wants to dwell with me. He wants habitation, not just visitation.

I’ve had the wrong idea about Him all this time. This is why everything in the past has been a low-key struggle. I was tired of working for love from every man I’ve known.

Little did I know—I didn’t have to work.

Not with Him.

He wanted me to rest. He wanted me to come sit on His lap and just be. He already knows me. He wants me to know Him.

So I’ve invited Him to dwell with me.

Can He come stay with you too?