Return

 

Malachi 3:7

…..Return to me, and I will return to you,” says the LORD Almighty….

I am placing an extract of a letter from Steve Porter today, because it so lovingly describes the circumstances many of us are facing at the moment:

Spiritual apathy rarely announces itself. It slips in quietly, as life grows full. David Wilkerson once spoke of a season when life was good. A loving church. A steady routine. Enough provision to be comfortable. Nothing was broken. And yet—something was missing.

He admitted something that many sincere Christians quietly experience: his Bible reading had become functional. Useful. Practical. He read to prepare. To stay faithful. To keep moving forward. But not always to linger.

And one day, he found himself praying words that changed everything: “Lord, I’m not looking for a word for a sermon. I’m looking for Your heart.” That prayer was not the cry of a burned-out leader. It was the hunger of a normal believer who realized that Christianity can continue without intimacy—but it cannot thrive.

Wilkerson learned prayer as a boy. His father used to say to him, “David, there are only twenty-four hours in a day. That’s all Elijah had—and he prayed. You can pray like Elijah. God always makes a way for men of prayer.” That truth is not reserved for preachers. It is for mothers and fathers. Teenagers and retirees. Factory workers and office employees. Anyone who desires more than a surface walk with God.

Wilkerson discovered something important: when you truly decide to seek God, distractions increase. Not sinful things. Ordinary things. Phone calls. Schedules. Responsibilities. Life itself begins to press harder—not because prayer is wrong, but because it matters.

So he found a place. A quiet place.  place where God could meet him. Not for a day. Not for a quick devotion. For weeks. He said, “Lord, I’m fixing my heart. I’m not satisfied with a normal Christianity.”

Beloved, that sentence alone explains the difference between knowing about God and knowing God.

Wilkerson later looked at the modern Church and said plainly: “You are spending more time with technology than with the Holy Spirit.” Not because technology is evil—but because it is loud. And loud things slowly crowd out the still, small voice.

Beloved, this is not about guilt. It is about hunger. A full schedule can starve the soul. A busy mind can silence prayer. You may still attend church. Still read Scripture. Still believe all the right things. Yet something inside quietly whispers, “There must be more than this.”

That whisper is not dissatisfaction. It is invitation. Wilkerson said revival did not come because he was gifted. It came because he returned to the place he had left.

Years later, walking through the brokenness of Times Square, the Holy Spirit whispered to him, “Go back and seek My face the way you did in the beginning.” The same whisper is moving through the Church today. Not calling us to do more—but to return. Because prayer is not preparation for the Christian life. Prayer is the Christian life.

Dear one, let me ask you gently—When was the last time you prayed without rushing? Without multitasking? Without needing something immediately?

When was the last time you sat with God simply because you missed Him? If prayer has grown thin, if silence feels awkward, if your heart feels crowded—this is not condemnation. This is mercy knocking.

Right now, whisper this prayer: “Lord, I return. I’ve been faithful—but hurried. Busy—but distant. Teach me to linger again. Clear the noise from my heart. I want Your presence more than productivity.”

Beloved, the prayer room is still open. And the Father is still waiting.

With Love,

Steve Porter

Lord lead me back home