Prayer flags

Just this past week, I was running through a breathtaking sanctuary of trees in the park, thinking, absorbing the incredible beauty of creation, and praying as I often do on a run.  There is nothing like going on a run to stir up the deepest parts of my heart, to bring needs of others to the surface, to listen and respond.

Our country right now is in a mess -- the not-going-away-anytime-soon pandemic, unrest, protests, and oh, an election that seems like a made-for-tv movie. 

We have complained.  We have grumbled. We have been dismayed. We have jested. We have turned away when the partisan voices continued to crescendo. We have been invaded by political advertising, texts, fake robotic phone calls, accusations, and truths that have been tweaked into fictions -- or have fictions been tweaked into truths?

But have we prayed?  

Praying not for certain issues or successes or candidates of our own leanings, but pray to God?  To seek Him and ask not just for favor, but His mercy for our country?  For His way, for His flourishing, for how to navigate these treacherous waters, and how to love our neighbors, strangers, and even foes?  We are citizens of this country, but also "fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God." (Ephesians 2. 19)  And that calls us to a different place, responding to God knocking on our screen doors, drawing our passion, compassion and imagination to Him.

I know that I have complained a lot more than I have prayed. 

In eastern cultures, prayer flags are strung at the highest elevations to catch the attention of God.  But as I was running through a park campground, I saw a banner of a different sort fluttering amidst the trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone had strung them in the trees as a decoration, but as I ran past, I thought about them as prayer flags, not about catching God's attention, but mine, a visual reminder for me not to complain or grumble, but to pray.   Not just praying about the outcome, but the journey forth. Not about who wins and loses, but praying for our leaders, whoever they may be. And how we can be faithful to Him in our everyday lives, even as He is faithful. 

What does Scripture say about times like these?  Not how to vote, but how to live differently in our culture.

Build houses and live in them,

plant gardens and eat their produce...

Seek the welfare of the city

where I have sent you into exile,

and pray to the LORD on its behalf,

for in its welfare 

        you will find your welfare. 

                            Jeremiah 29. 5, 7

Most of us are not running for office, but what are we doing to seek the welfare of this city where we live, to seek goodness for the people God has placed in our lives, to be a faithful presence, even in the midst of chaos and a mess?  As author Steven Garber suggests in his book Visions of Vocation, "I can't do everything, but I can do something."  There are no small kindnesses, no insignificant details of grace.  What are we doing for the flourishing of others today? Are we willing to rebuild, restore, and stand in the breaches, of which we are surrounded? 

And so, I am reminded in these last few days before the election to pray.   And to ponder where God has strategically placed me today, what He has placed before me and on my heart, to love Him and love others, and how to be faithful to Him.

Pray continually.

Live faithfully.

Love well.

Practice grace over and over.

What's In Your Pocket?

My grandmother always carried with her, on her person, hidden away from sight, not concealed weapons, but resources in a way that no one would know, until a moment of need came to the surface. 

I was often the recipient of what she had saved up, kept secret, and made ready.  Small surprises appeared suddenly at the right moment, a homemade cookie seemingly out of thin air on a weary journey or a discouraging day, Chicklets or a crayon or two out of her pocket in the middle of a way-too-long sermon, or from the vast depths of her little sewing closet, a tiny trinket or card game.  Little treasures were waiting, patiently waiting, packed up, ready to go, just below the surface, and always, it seemed, just in time.

When my grandmother passed away, quite suddenly of a heart attack, it was not like she just disappeared, but her passing gave every appearance that she had departed for a long-anticipated party.  “You know where I’m going, and I’m not going to be hurting anymore,” she often reminded me. 

She was a stay-at-home grandmother, living with our family through my first sixteen years.  She was mostly restricted to our house due to her 45-year stint with rheumatoid arthritis.  She would laugh out loud –and reprimand me even now --at the thought of “limitations.”  She knew no boundaries.  Out of a few cans in the pantry, she created feasts for the family or unexpected guests.  Wherever we moved, barren soil laden with weeds and large rocks were simply her palette for a garden, resplendent with color.  She rejoiced over a few scraps of material, a worn out dress or an outgrown pair of slacks, nothing but nothing went to waste.  Nothing was insignificant in her eyes.  No one was insignificant in her heart. No one.

Even me.

No matter what she was doing, how busy her day, she always made time for me.  After all these decades later, that is still a treasure in my heart.  I would creep in and sit on the small chaise lounge in the corner of her bedroom.  Sometimes we talked, mostly I listened, but always we just enjoyed being together in those little pockets of time. She had a joy about her that had nothing at all to do with circumstances, either favorable or difficult, but on hope in God on whom she had staked her life. 

Of all people, she knew full well the definition of difficult.  But her creativity thrived on the impossible.  What can I do with that?  Even intense arthritic pain that kept her from sleeping didn’t sway her.  I often awoke in the middle of the night to the smell of brownies baking in the oven, or to the hum of her sewing machine.  “No sense wasting time just lying there awake,” she would say. Sometimes I thought, even then, the harder things became, only deepened God’s strength in her.

When she passed away, my mom began tearing apart my grandmother’s old woolen coats.  I was not surprised.  I knew what she was doing, but I thought I was the only one who knew. My grandmother had sewn in the hems of her coats, out of sight, a five or ten dollar bill, “for car fare,” she told me, “if I ever need it, just in case I am ever stuck somewhere…or my purse is taken.”

As far as I know, she never needed it for such an occasion, but she was prepared.  And as I suspect now, that money wasn’t about her after all.  She was equipped to help someone else in time of need.  I wouldn’t put that past her.  She saw life differently, she saw others differently, she saw needs of which no one was ever aware, and she was ready to do something about them.

It was not just a few dollar bills stashed away, sewn in hems and pinned in pockets, but her generous and loving heart, quietly changing with the love of God, her little corner of the universe. 

Nothing insignificant at all.

 

…and find grace to help

        in time of need.

 

                Hebrews 4. 16