Lord, What Do You Want Me to See?

19 aug

Geschreven door Lennie Buddy

A few years ago, I moved to a new city to live closer to my work.

Like many people who move, I started looking for a new church home.

At first, every church felt like another possibility.

“Maybe this is the one.”

Every Sunday, I hoped I had finally found the place where I belonged.

But as the months passed, I became discouraged.

No matter how many churches I visited, none of them felt like home.

Eventually, I stopped looking.

I had made peace with following my old church online.

I remember thinking,

“I’m good, Lord.”

Then one day, while scrolling through Facebook, I came across a pastor I’d never heard of.

Out of curiosity, I clicked on his page.

When I saw the church’s address, I realized it was only ten minutes from my house.

And quietly, I sensed God whisper,

“Go here.”

My honest reaction?

“Not another church, Lord.”

I felt like I had already visited enough churches.

I wasn’t looking anymore.

But something in me knew I needed to go.

So I did.

And from the moment I walked through the doors, I sensed God gently saying,

“Welcome home.”

Looking back now, I realize that wasn’t the beginning of my story.

It was the end of a journey God had been leading me through all along.

Because before He brought me home…

He first led me into many different rooms.

At first, I thought every church was simply another attempt to find where I belonged.

But over time, my prayer began to change.

Instead of asking,

“Lord, is this where You want me to stay?”

I started praying,

“Lord… why did You bring me into this room?”

“What do You want me to see?”

“Teach me to see as You see.”

Because if I leaned on my own understanding, I knew exactly what I would do.

I would compare.

I would judge.

I would focus on what was different.

And I would completely miss what God wanted to reveal.

So I chose curiosity instead.

And slowly…

Every room began teaching me something different.

The Dutch Church

In one Dutch church, they lit a candle before every gathering.

It was a simple way of welcoming God’s presence.

There was no spectacle.

No performance.

Just a quiet sense of reverence.

Their worship was gentle.

Minimalistic.

Sacred.

I loved it.

The African Church

In an African church, everything felt different.

The praise was alive.

The worship felt primal.

Almost existential.

There was freedom to kneel.

Freedom to sit.

Freedom to move.

Freedom to simply be.

So I loved experiencing a place where people weren’t expected to conform to someone else’s expression of worship or prayer.

Everyone seemed free to respond to God’s presence in their own way.

The Dominican Church

Then there was a Dominican church.

My Spanish isn’t fluent enough to comfortably hold a conversation, but I can understand much more than I can express.

I walked in during the prayer meeting before the service.

The pastor prayed with such passion that it felt like his prayers alone could move mountains.

The praise carried a deep longing to be in God’s presence.

The people welcomed me with incredible warmth.

At one point, the pastor handed me his own Bible so I could follow along during Scripture.

It was entirely in Spanish.

I couldn’t understand every word.

But I didn’t need to.

I understood the gesture.

And somehow…

That felt like one of the most loving things he could have done.

Love has a language of its own.

This week, during a social event at my church, I found myself talking with someone about worship.

Naturally, the conversation turned to favorite worship leaders.

I asked him,

“Who’s your favorite?”

He smiled.

“I don’t really have one.”

Instead, he pulled out his phone and excitedly searched through one of his playlists.

Then he showed me one word.

Adullam.

He explained that it was a type of African worship he often listened to during his prayer time.

He told me,

“Search for Adullam. You’ll find all kinds of worship like this.”

I had never heard the word before.

At first, I was surprised.

But instead of dismissing something unfamiliar…

I became curious.

What I discovered wasn’t simply the meaning of a Hebrew word.

Adullam was the place where David fled before becoming king.

A cave.

The secret place.

A hidden place where God shaped David long before the world saw what He was preparing him for.

Today, many people describe an Adullam season as a season where God removes distractions…

where old wounds are healed…

where character is formed…

and where He prepares us for what comes next.

One phrase especially stayed with me.

“The place where God prepares kings before He presents them.”

That led me down another path.

I began listening to different Adullam worship videos.

What I discovered was something many people would call soaking worship.

A form of worship where there is no rush.

No pressure to perform.

No expectation to sing every word.

Just an invitation to linger in God’s presence.

I came across a woman leading worship.

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

She wasn’t performing.

She was simply dwelling with God.

As I listened, there were moments where her voice broke with emotion.

It felt deeply personal.

Like I wasn’t watching someone sing.

I was witnessing someone pouring out her heart before God.

I found myself staying much longer than I had planned.

Then something struck me.

For more than a year, one of the worship songs I kept returning to was Secret Place by Samuel Medas.

I intentionally kept returning to the secret place.

It became the place where I lingered with God.

The place where He was tending to me.

Restoring me.

Shaping me.

Doing new things within me.

It was the place that kept me going.

So discovering that Adullam is the secret place felt deeply personal.

Almost as if God was quietly whispering,

“I see you.”

“I’ve been with you here all along.”

Looking back now…

I no longer believe God was leading me from church to church because He wanted me to find the perfect room.

I think He was introducing me to different parts of His heart.

One room taught me reverence.

Another taught me freedom.

Another taught me that love transcends language.

Another reminded me of the foundation that shaped my faith.

Another introduced me to the beauty of lingering in His presence.

None of those rooms revealed all of God.

But each revealed something beautiful about Him.