Yearning and Hiding

I'm absolutely stopped short by today's opening paragraph in Foster's Prayer. He spells out the problem I face daily: yearning for prayer, yet hiding from it. Like the sides of magnets - attracted and repelled. What is that about? Why do I want to pray yet often can't seem to bring myself to do it? I think "Oh, I should pray about this," yet don't actually pray. What a strange dissonance of spirit. I'm reminded of the double-minded man of James 1 - unstable and immature. Some thing, or things, prevents me from just simply praying, right then and there!

Foster then points out one of the many "somethings" that we find to be a hindrance: we think we need to be perfect, or at least better, in order to actually pray. Our motives should be purer, our hearts cleaner, our thoughts more focused. I should have more time to 'really pray' rather than just rattling off a quick one. My heart and mind should be in the right place to pray so that God will hear/receive my prayers. What actual rubbish that all is.

It is exactly what we tell people when they want to come to Christ in the first place: "just come as you are! You can't clean yourself up enough for God to accept you, that is Jesus' job." So why on earth do I think I need to ge everything just so before I pray? It's actually kind of silly. 

I think the enemy likes to keep us in that same rut of thinking "if I just _____, then God will accept me." It is a trap, and one that I continue to fall into. And it has to stop!

Gathered in his arms

 Foster continues his illustration of a home by explaining that the key to these various rooms is prayer and the door is Jesus himself. Of course, this is Christ's own illustration in describing himself as the only way to the Father in salvation. But this takes it a hair farther with Christ being the way to the heart of God in prayer. I am not sure of the implications of this - perhaps it simply means that because we are in Christ, we have access to God in prayer.

He then tells a simple, profound story of a father with an overwrought toddler in a shopping mall. After trying many things to help the toddler to settle down, the dad simply picks him up and sings over him - to him. "Prayer,"says Foster, "is a little like that." I struggle to imagine myself nestled in the arms of God while he sings over me - while he whispers to me. But I think it is a worthwhile exercise.

Reviving the blog

Blogs are out of date, now. But I need a spot to write some thoughts and this is as good a place as any. We are back in South Asia after a decade in the US. A different, easier-for-me country this time. God is teaching me about prayer and I am beginning Richard Foster's book, Prayer, Finding the Heart's True Home. This will be where I record my thoughts and reflections.

Coming Home: an Invitation to Prayer is the title of this book's introduction. The first section is such a warm, passionate invitation to come to God! It evokes the beautiful image of the father of the prodigal as he stands in the road, arms open wide to receive the lost child as he returns. I am not a prodigal in that sense, but in another sense - one where I dwell many places other than the Father's arms and heart, I am indeed prodigal. 

Foster says "For too long we have been in a far country..." How true that is! Our lives, even as believers, when lived on their own are full of strife, frustration, fear. That is not the place of God, who invites us to intimacy, fullness, freedom, peace, and rest.

Using the image of a home, Foster goes through the various rooms to which we are invited - the kitchen - where friendship lies; the dining room - a place of refreshment and strength; the workshop where we join in labor with him; the study where we learn; and the bedroom where we find rest and intimacy. I think I (and many believers) are quite happy to enter into his study. And righly so, for there we learn great truths of who God is and of his boundless wisdom. We may also enter his workshop and labor for and with him. But how many of us - and here I include myself - venture into the kitchen to be his friend, or the dining room to truly feast on him. I think we venture into the bedroom from time to time to seek rest, but rarely do we stay long enough to encounter true intimacy.

God stands, as the father in the image, looking for me to return, longing to hold me in his arms, and to lavish his love upon me. That is where I want and NEED to be - each day, each hour, each moment.

Loving God

So many days
an empty space
lingers in the place
marked "love for You."

Where do they go,
these fickle aches
of longing, love
and need of you?

"Choose," you said,
to give to me
your love
in actions real.

Do not rely
on feelings, fading --
waiting for Everests
to appear.

DO love,
consciously,
attentive and active,
regardless.

It can not be passive--
"Love the Lord
your God
with all your heart."

But asks,
demands:
I must ACT
when I don't feel.

Endless Gifts

His gifts go on, even though I am not recording them.

Today I am thankful for:

69.  salt
70.  a teacher who is helping me so much
71.  cool water
72.  the delicious sound of pasta boiling on the stove.

For Memorial Day

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
But not of war it sings to-day.
The road is rhythmic with the feet
Of men-at-arms who come to pray.

The roses blossom white and red
On tombs where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave above the honored dead
And martial music cleaves the sky.

Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
They kept the faith and fought the fight.
Through flying lead and crimson steel
They plunged for Freedom and the Right.

May we, their grateful children, learn
Their strength, who lie beneath this sod,
Who went through fire and death to earn
At last the accolade of God.

In shining rank on rank arrayed
They march, the legions of the Lord;
He is their Captain unafraid,
The Prince of Peace...Who brought a sword.

- Joyce Kilmer, 1917

Sights, sounds, smells

66. A well-traveled boy safely returned - a glad sight for this mother's eyes.

67. The sound of a spoon digging into a piece of watermelon.

68. The heavy fragrance of the gardenia bush in bloom -

perfuming the evening air.

69. Small sister's arm around the shoulders of the returning brother.