Have you ever noticed that in every love relationship one party always seems to care more than the other? The one who loves most is patient and considerate, overlooking wrongs, forgiving, and always wanting the best for the object of his love. The most-interested sees his love in a hopeful light and longs for a closer relationship, even when the less-interested one pulls back. If there’s separation, the one more capable of love reaches out for reconciliation and, if rebuffed, waits anxiously for the other to return his affection.

Almost unbelievably, in your relationship with Jesus he is the one most desirous of relationship. You’re not the one most interested. He’s the one who waits for you to call; he continually knocks on the door of your heart, waiting for you to open. You’re the one who fails to put him first and, sadly, your indifference hurts him.

And yet you occasionally cry out for him to draw closer to you, don’t you? I know because I’ve done it. I pray, “Lord, please draw close to me. I desperately need to feel your love. Where are you?”

Kind of insulting, isn’t it? I mean, he never left. I turned my back and busied myself with more “important” pursuits, and then I blamed him when I no longer felt his presence. I accused him of leaving me!

He didn’t.

That’s what James implies when he says, “Draw near to God and he will draw near to you” James 4:8. But how exactly do we do that? Well, the next couple of verses offer a few ideas, and Psalm 145 promises he’ll be near if you call on him in truth, but I occasionally do something a little different that you might want to try.

I pretend I’m Moses.

Why shouldn’t I? Who has ever felt God’s love more palpably than Moses, the man who spoke with God face to face as a friend? Since it might be helpful to get a sense of that love, I visualize myself in Moses’ place for a moment. Moses asked God to show his glory; I make the same request. Turning on a worship tape, I quiet myself “like a weaned child with its mother” and close my eyes. Lifting my palms in worship position, I imagine myself as Moses, someone I know God loves.

In my mind’s eye I follow the events of Exodus 33 and 34. I ascend Mt. Sinai in the predawn chill with only the sound of my breathing and the crunch of stones beneath my sandal-clad feet breaking the silence. The perfume of grasses and wild flowers floats around me in the crisp, fresh air. My long robe, the hem wet with dew, slaps against my ankles.

As pink edges the horizon, I pause near the top where steep rock rises at my back and pull my garment tightly around me. Closing my eyes I wait, quivering in anticipation, desperate to experience God’s presence, expecting the King of the universe.

Gradually a cloud descends to envelop me and my pulse quickens. Is that God beside me? A soft breeze whispers past my face; I can’t be sure if it is cloud or the breath of God. Suddenly God’s voice blasts in my ear like a trumpet (see Rev. 1:10) and an electric thrill shoots through me. God begins to bless me by whispering his name like an intimate lover, “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin. . . .” (see Exod. 34:6,7).

Quickly I bow my head and worship, knowing my sins are forgiven, feeling the love God offers to a thousand generations, welcoming it, embracing it; I allow it to envelope me and flow through me. God’s love is for me, and so deep and strong I can’t restrain my tears.