"Stay Close" by Naomi Dappen.

Your Glory Is My Promised Land

Inspired by the song "Glory" by Naomi Dappen. All lyrical credit belongs entirely to her. If these words move you, go listen to her music.

I have been listening to a song for the last few days that I cannot seem to shake.

Not because it is catchy.

Not because it has been stuck in my head.

But because every time I hear it, it confronts me.

The lyrics are simple:

"I want Your glory more than Your promise."

"I seek Your face more than Your hand."

"If I have Your presence I'll sleep in deserts."

"Oh Your glory is my promised land."

The first time I heard those words, I stopped what I was doing and listened again.

Then I listened again.

And again.

Because the more I sat with those lyrics, the more I realised they were exposing something in me.

If I am completely honest, much of my early walk with God was transactional.

I loved God.

I genuinely believed.

I prayed.

I read Scripture.

But underneath all of that, I often approached God with a list.

Fix this.

Heal that.

Open this door.

Close that door.

Answer this prayer.

Remove this struggle.

Change this circumstance.

I wasn't consciously trying to use God.

But looking back, I can see that a lot of my relationship with Him revolved around what I hoped He would do for me.

And when those things happened, my faith felt strong.

When they didn't happen, I struggled.

I think more Christians live there than we are willing to admit.

We love God.

But we quietly measure His closeness by His activity.

If prayers are being answered, we feel encouraged.

If circumstances improve, we feel seen.

If doors open, we feel confident.

But when things remain unresolved, we start wondering where He is.

That is why the line about seeking His face more than His hand hit me so hard.

Because a hand gives something.

A face gives presence.

A hand provides.

A face reveals relationship.

And somewhere along the way I began realising that God was trying to teach me the difference.

There have been prayers in my life that have gone unanswered for years.

Some still remain unanswered.

There have been relationships I thought would work out that didn't.

Dreams I thought would happen that never happened.

Opportunities I believed God would provide that never arrived.

There were seasons where I genuinely wondered what God was doing.

And if I am honest, there were moments where I questioned whether He was listening at all.

But looking back now, I can see something I could not see at the time.

The seasons where I could not see His hand were often the seasons where His presence was closest.

Not because life became easier.

It didn't.

Not because I suddenly got the answers I wanted.

I didn't.

But somehow He remained.

Steady.

Faithful.

Present.

That is something suffering teaches you.

You discover whether you want God or whether you simply want what God can give you.

And that is not always a comfortable lesson.

When Naomi sings,

"If I have Your presence I'll sleep in deserts,"

I know exactly what she means.

When I hear the word desert, I don't think about sand.

I think about seasons.

I think about addiction.

I think about nights where anxiety was louder than peace.

I think about heartbreak.

I think about unanswered questions.

I think about years where I felt like I was surviving rather than living.

I think about sitting awake in the early hours of the morning carrying burdens I could not fix.

Those were desert seasons.

And if I could have escaped them, I probably would have.

Nobody volunteers for suffering.

Nobody asks for heartbreak.

Nobody asks for years of confusion.

But something happens when everything else is stripped away.

You discover what remains.

And for me, what remained was God.

Not perfectly understood.

Not always felt.

But present.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that some of the deepest things God has taught me happened in seasons I would never choose for myself.

The years of addiction taught me dependence.

The years of struggle taught me endurance.

The years of unanswered prayer taught me trust.

The years where life did not unfold the way I expected taught me that God's faithfulness is not dependent on my understanding.

I would never choose those roads again.

But I would not erase them either.

Because those roads revealed parts of God I never would have known otherwise.

The line that probably affects me most is the simplest one.

"Stay close to me."

That prayer feels deeply familiar.

I have prayed it more times than I can count.

Sometimes during anxiety.

Sometimes during grief.

Sometimes during disappointment.

Sometimes during seasons where God felt close.

Sometimes during seasons where He felt distant.

Stay close to me.

There is something profoundly human about that prayer.

Because beneath all our theology and all our explanations, that is often what our hearts are really saying.

Stay close.

Don't leave.

Help me keep going.

Remind me You are here.

And over the years I have discovered something remarkable.

He does.

Not always loudly.

Not always dramatically.

Not always in ways I immediately recognise.

But He stays.

That has become one of the great anchors of my faith.

Life changes.

People leave.

Dreams evolve.

Bodies age.

Circumstances shift.

But God remains.

That is why this song has affected me so deeply.

Because it reminds me of something I am still learning.

God Himself is the reward.

Not the answer.

Not the outcome.

Not the blessing.

Not the promise fulfilled exactly the way I hoped.

Him.

His presence.

His glory.

His nearness.

I still bring God my list.

I still pray for things.

I still ask Him to move.

I still ask Him to heal, provide, guide and intervene.

But I am slowly learning that if all I ever seek is His hand, I will miss the greater gift.

The greater gift is His face.

The greater gift is His presence.

The greater gift is knowing Him.

That is what I want more of.

Not because I have mastered it.

Not because I have arrived.

But because after everything I have walked through, I am beginning to understand something that took me years to learn.

His glory is not waiting on the other side of answered prayer.

His glory is found in His presence.

And sometimes His presence is enough to carry you through places you never thought you could survive.

So today, that is my prayer.

Stay close to me.

And teach me to want Your face more than Your hand.

Your presence more than Your promises.

Your glory more than anything else.

---

About the Author

Dylan Verdun Sullivan is the founder of Refined by Fire Press and an Australian author indexed in the National Library of Australia. As a Level 7 Local Guide with over 3.9 million views on Google Maps, he documents the intersection of faith, recovery, and the light found in ordinary places.

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