The True Distance Between Us and God
Look again. That ache in your spirit crying, “Come, Lord”—it may not reveal His absence, but your distance. God hasn’t gone anywhere. He stands right beside you, unchanged and ever near. And yet we look around, frantic and pleading, while He watches with a mix of sorrow and gentle amusement. Sorrow, because we’ve wandered. Amusement, because we’re searching for what was never lost. Is it sin that blinds us? Idols that distract? Pride that numbs? When we cry, “Come,” He answers, “Return.” Not in anger, but in mercy—calling us back to the place where He’s been all along.
Beloved, how often do our prayers begin with, “Come, Lord Jesus”—as if He had gone somewhere far off? How often do we lift our hands, ache in our voices, longing for God to descend, forgetting that He has already drawn near? The Spirit broods over the waters of our lives, and the Son stands at the door and knocks. Yet we plead, “Come!” as though He were absent. And in the stillness, the voice of the Father answers, “Return to Me.”
“Return to Me, and I will return to you,” says the Lord of hosts (Malachi 3:7, NASB). This is not contradiction. It is correction. The cry of “Come, Lord!” often masks the fact that it is our hearts that have wandered, not His. We pray for revival, for God to show up, for His presence to be known. But He has not moved. He is the Ancient of Days, seated and steadfast. It is we who have run after idols, grown cold, hidden behind our busyness or pain.
Yeshua said, “I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20, NASB), and again, “Where two or three are gathered in My name, I am there” (Matthew 18:20, NASB). He has already come. The presence of the Holy One surrounds us like the wind—felt but unseen. And yet, how blind we are when sin fogs our eyes or pride numbs our hearts.
“Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you” (James 4:8, NASB). This is the sacred tension. Our lips cry “Come,” but God says, “Return.” And if we would humble ourselves, tear down the altars we’ve built to self and success, and once again seek His face—not just His hand—we would discover what was always true: He never left.
He is the God who stands in the fire, the whisper in the cave, the One who walks beside us on the road and is only recognized when our hearts burn within us. When we say “Come,” let it not be an accusation of absence, but a confession of our own distance. And let His voice thunder back—not in anger, but in mercy—“Return.”
I cried out, “Come!” with desperate plea,
But You, O Lord, were still with me.
The space I felt was not Your part—
It came from my divided heart.
Prayer
Holy Father, forgive us for calling You absent when it was we who left. Forgive us for asking You to “come” while we clung to idols, routine, and noise. Today, we respond to Your cry—“Return to Me.” We cast off our distractions. We rend our hearts. We choose the secret place. Let us find You again where You have always been—waiting with mercy, watching like the Father for the prodigal. In the name of Yeshua, who made the way back home, Amen.