Because I get to meet with God. And He promises to meet with me. Me. Imperfect. Fallen. She who just grumped her kids and her husband out of the house. She who misplaced her righteousness in the muddy driveway on the way to the minivan. Me. Getting it together on a Sunday morning is more often a process of coming apart.

“I was glad when they said to me,

‘Let us go to the house of the Lord!’” (Psalm 122:1)

Seafood jambalaya in crockpot. Check. Matching pairs of church shoes on children. Check. Butcher paper for children’s Sunday school lesson in bag. Check. iPod for singing time, notebooks for sermon notes. Check, check. Where are my earrings? Anyone seen my earrings? I had them right here. Oh, okay, check. The lights? Who is going to turn off the lights in the bedrooms? Anyone? Hello?

The build-up to corporate worship is like organizing a mountain-climbing expedition every week. But when we finally get there: when the Sunday school lesson is done, and the kids have wiggled on the front lawn for a few minutes, and I’ve said “hello” and “how are you” in the ladies’ restroom. When I’ve handed out the Bibles and denied the one-last-drinks of water. When my husband stands up front and reads out the opening Scripture. Well, then, it is all worth it.

And so, I am glad when they say “Let us go to the house of the Lord!” Only in the house of the Lord, gathered with the saints, singing His excellencies, feeding on the bread of the Word, am I most refreshed, most satisfied, made whole.

Worship is not really about me, what I’ve done or left undone. It’s not even about me, the pastor’s wife, the mom, the woman. It’s all about looking at Him.

“Let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race set before us, looking to Jesus” (Heb. 12:1-2).

“One thing have I asked of the Lord, that I will seek after;

That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,

to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord” (Ps. 27:4).

In the midst of “to dos” and “have tos,” in the midst of getting it together and falling on my face, I am so thankful for the privilege of worship. Looking away from myself and toward my Savior is the best possible place to be.

Megan Hill is a PCA pastor’s wife and regular contributor to The Aquila Report. This article appeared on Focus on the Family and is used with permission.