The Invitation

Okay, so here is my dream . . . .

I go to the mailbox one day to find a beautifully engraved invitation. Yes, it is finally here. Someone at last informed George and Laura that Rob and I, like they, are Southerners transplanted into the crazy world that is greater Washington, D.C. Naturally, they decide they simply must have us over for dinner.
After calling Rob and screaming my excitement in the phone, I quickly RSVP a “yes” to the White House invitation. I clear my calendar to open up room for a hair appointment, a manicure, a pedicure, and shopping time with a girlfriend to find the perfect dress, shoes, jewelry, etc.
On the big day, I spend hours primping and preparing. My appointments and shopping all behind me, my head filled with the latest news talking points (“So, Mr. President, how will NATO deal with those protestors in Belgrade?”), Rob and I head off to the White House. After clearing security, we finally enter the doors of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. How do I feel at this particular moment? I am a nervous wreck.
At this stage in my life there is probably not enough preparation, money or coaching to have me mentally approach a visit to the White House without nerves. Will I look okay? Will I say the right thing? Will I fall on my face? Questions of insecurity would pummel my brain.
Yet, almost everyday, in some form or fashion – long or short, drop-in or sit down chat – I walk into the throne room of almighty God. The Sovereign Creator of the universe. The Alpha and the Omega. The Great I Am.
How do I dress for this auspicious occasion? Seriously, you would not want to see me. Usually, no makeup, frequently sweaty in my old t-shirt and shorts I wear to ride my stationary bike, sometimes even pajamas. Very often, I have not had my shower, combed my hair or even brushed my teeth. Yuck. Sometimes I might be cleaned, dressed and made up, but I buzz in and out of the throne room in thirty seconds or less. Zoom in the door, speak and take off again.
My security clearance for these meetings? No problem, I just buzz right in the door. Through a process which is at the same time simple and yet far beyond my understanding, the guards immediately see I am one of the family, covered in Jesus blood. I am ushered into the presence of the Master of the universe.
So what’s the difference? Why am I a nervous wreck over even an imaginary White House invitation, but do not hesitate to sail into the throne room of God? The answer lies partially in the limitations of my own mind. I probably will not in this lifetime completely comprehend what it means when I – yes, sinful, messed up, broken me- walk into God’s throne room. The Bible says even angels long to look into these things. How in the world did I end up with access to God’s throne? It is so simple, yet so profound. Jesus gave His blood to be my “fast pass” through security. When I turned my life over to Him, I became one of the family. I simply said yes to an invitation that is open to each and every one of us.
The other part of the answer involves my heart. Somewhere, deep inside, Jesus finally seems to be reaching the little girl in me. He whispers to her of perfect love. He lets her heart know she is completely safe, completely welcomed and completely loved. He tells her of how she is His princess. The little girl in me buys into His words one hundred percent. Jesus is so convincing, so alluring, and so safe. The grown woman my struggle with fears, doubts and insecurities, but the little girl waltzes into the throne room, showing her daddy how she can twirl in her skirt - or her p.j.’s or even her sweaty shorts.
So for today, I want to think on these things. If I would be nervous about a White House visit, how amazing is it that I get into the ultimate executive mansion anytime I want? The ruler of the world invites me in with no hair appointment, no manicure, and no pedicure. He just issues an invitation.
“Come”
”Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence. “
Hebrews 4:16a (NIV)