Finding God in the House

I was pondering a quote I heard in a recent sermon. Its idea was new to me, and I wanted to get Holy Spirit’s input. Closing my eyes, I turned the idea over in my mind and listened for what he might say. An image of a large house began to take shape in my mind, and I was invited to step inside. But first, here is the quote.

The scriptures are what God has spoken. If the scriptures are my destination, then I will go no further. If they are my invitation then I will press in to find the One who speaks. –Bill Johnson.

I saw before me a large house, marked by many years and much history. As I entered the front door, the foyer opened up on the left to a sitting room, or parlor. I noticed a fire place, a winged back chair with a sitting table beside it, and other such things befitting a room owned by someone fairly well to do. The fire crackled and gave the room a comfortable ambience. I entered cautiously, feeling a quiet reverence in the room, as if I were entering some great library of historic significance. The fireplace mantle had many framed pictures and mementos upon it, as did the table beside the wingback chair. And then I noticed that pictures and mementos covered the walls of the entire room, such that there was hardly any wall to be seen. 

My inspection of the room was interrupted when an older man entered the room behind me. He did not acknowledge me as I turned and watched him. I felt his comfort in the room, and yet his great respect for this place. He had been here many times. He searched around the room looking for something. He spied a yellow sticky note attached to one of the old framed photos and then I saw it, as if they were hidden to me but suddenly revealed—sticky notes were all over the room. They were attached to the framed photos and mementos, upon the walls and table. Little yellow handwritten notes stuck to just about everything.

My attention turned back to the man and I noticed his great delight in the note. He pulled out a small note pad and copied down what was written upon it. I could feel his joy in this small discovery. He replaced the sticky note on the photo’s frame, then hurried from the room and out the front door. I felt his excitement—he wanted to share his discovery with friends. The meaning of this place, this room, began to dawn on me. 

I then saw a young girl enter the room. She did not see me either, stopping a few feet into the room. I felt her wonder as she looked about the room, taking in all the photographs and sticky notes. She stepped over to the small table beside the chair, paused to look at a framed photo upon it, and gently pulled the sticky note from the frame. As she drew it closer to her face, I felt the words of the note tug at her heart. She held it for a moment, and then looked up, scanning the room with her eyes. I could feel the wonder in her heart: someone wrote this note… they must be here in the house somewhere. Holding the note between her fingers, she stepped back into the entryway. She looked to her right—the front door—and to her left, a hallway leading further into the house. I could feel her heart. She wanted to find who had written the note. She turned toward the hallway and started walking deeper into the house.

And there the image was interrupted, as if awakening from sleep before a good dream was done. But now I understood the quote, not just with my head, but with my heart.

Holy Spirit, the scriptures are wondrous, but they are not my destination. They are my invitations. I want to press in to find the one who speaks. There I will find my heart’s desire.