Telling or asking?

It is in the countryside, the rolling hills, the deep forest with trees that appear to touch heaven itself, that I am most aware, not how much I am alone, but the presence of God who is here.  Even there in the darkest places, the tiniest flowers poke their heads through the leafy mess last autumn left behind, the evidence of hope, the revealing that another season is coming about.

And in those grand and cavernous spaces, I find not emptiness, but a sanctuary where I can talk to God outloud.  I can't help it.  There may be no words that fit the occasion, but that is why God invented prayer.

Prayer does not bring God into the conversation nor into the situation at hand, the crisis or the breathless beauty.  But prayer recognizes God already in the room, already working, always responding in one way or another, sometimes in the unexpected, sometimes in mysteries, sometimes in incomprehensible ways.  But when I pray, am I seeking Him in this... or only an answer of my own liking?  Am I asking God -- or am I telling Him -- what to do, how to do it, where, when, and why?  Where is the relationship in that?

One prayer of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane keeps resounding in my thoughts:  Not my will, but Yours... (Matthew 26. 39, Mark 14. 36)   What does that intimate prayer look like in my life today? 

How does that verse take root, not just in what I pray, but in how I pray?  What am I really asking for?  What do I really want?  His will -- as long as it conforms to mine?  Or something much deeper? 

I thought a lot about it while I was running, several days in a row, stopping every mile or so, to jot down my thoughts.  And a study in contrasts emerged.  How can I pray specifically and personally Not my will, but Yours…? 

Not my designated route, but Your path through the thicket.

Not my schemes, but Your incredible plans.

Not my wishes in this, but Your desires for me.

Not my great ideas, but Your enlargements.

Not my good, but Your welfare for many.

Not my better arrangements, but Your sovereignty.

Not my expectations, but hope in You.

Not my wavering opinions, but Your unchanging truth.

Not my control, but Your steadfast hand.

Not my feelings, but Your Presence.

Not my theories, but Your creation.

Not my performance, but Your grace.

Not my patching together, but Your redeeming.

Not my weakness, but Your strength.

Not my awkward stitches, but Your tapestry.
Not my despair, but Your resurrection.
Not my fictions, but Your truth.
Not my slight momentary affliction, but Your unfailing love.
Not my searching for new portals, but Your knocking on my door.

Not my adding, but Your multiplying.
Not my prescription for how it should be written, but Your eternal narrative.
Not my running away, hiding, pretending to be okay, but Your deliverance.
Not my fears of "what if...," but Your faithfulness in "what is."
Not my obsession with "what's next," but Your strength in "what's now."

Not my myopic vision, but Your eternal perspective.
Not my comfort, but Your Kingdom.
Not my crumbs, but Your banquet.
Not my selfishness, but Your sacrifice.
Not my reaction, but Your response.

Not my glory, but Yours.

Not me, but You.

Not my will, but Yours...

This little phrase of five words is not just a little prayer at all, but profoundly alters how I pray, and radically changes what my life looks like.  Praying in everyday places for what is eternal changes my perspective and reveals the comparison of what is and what can be.  O LORD, align my heart with Yours.  Help me to pray about that which is before me.  Help me to pray like that for what only You can do.  Not my will, but Yours...

For this slight momentary affliction
is preparing for us
an eternal weight of glory
     beyond all comparison,
because we look not
to the things that are seen
   but to the things that are unseen;
for the things that are seen are transient,
but the things that are not seen
                      are eternal.

                  2 Corinthians 4. 17-18

His response may very well take my breath away.

Is that You?

I was working in a far corner of our house, when I thought I heard the outside door open and some steps. Just the arthritic creaking of the house or my crazy imagination?  Or was an intruder here in this place?  I was not anticipating anyone as my husband had left for an appointment.  I did not expect him for awhile.  Something to welcome, something to ignore, or something to fear?

"Is that you?"  I called out.

When we hear something, we are compelled to know what and why.  We can listen a little more carefully to see if it happens again, or ignore it and move on, or explain away the evidence (just the wind?), or seek out the source.

On the most ordinary of days, sometimes deep stuff rattles in my heart, or a truth or transgression of mine pulls at me, or as it says in the children's book Madeleine, "Miss Clavel turned on the light, and said, "Something is not right."

Is it just an interruption to ignore, a huge issue to face, something insignificant to explain away, or just an irritating person to put up with?  Or do I call out, "Is that You, O LORD?"

Is God trying to get my attention?

Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said,
"Surely the LORD is in this place,
and I did not know it."

                   Genesis 28. 16

The truth is we are not alone.
When we watch for God -- or listen to Him--
we realize we are already surrounded
               by His Presence.
I am just not aware
        of what He is doing
in this heart of mine,
or in this place He has chosen
      to put His name here.

Here?  In these impossible circumstances?
Even here.
Even now.
God is not just present in this situation.
    He is powerful.
Things do not just "happen,"
there is not just "a reason" for it,
no randomness at all,
    but God's eternal purposes woven through it
                        by design.

That wrinkle in time, that slightest movement, that infinitesimal sound, indicate something extraordinary is going on here.  God makes Himself known, mostly in very unexpected ways, far beyond our finite understanding.  His glory appears momentarily and leaves us yearning for more.  All the discordant parts suddenly seem to fit together, when all along they have been resolving into something beautiful.  What becomes most powerful is the thread of fading notes hanging in the silence, which is how His faithfulness resounds.

What incredible things I do not recognize.
Even the sounds
            of His abiding.

Is that You, O LORD?
       

After all the green

St. Patrick's day is over, the green shirts and shamrock socks put away for another year.

But what lingers is the testimony of a real man who sacrificed his life to bring the name of Jesus into strange and dark places.

Patrick was not a legend, or some kind of super hero, nor a man who bore incredible courage.  He just continually sought the mercy and strength of the One mightier than him, before he even ventured out into his day, despite the mine fields or miry bogs of life.

The following is a prayer written by him in 433 AD as he sought to bring the gospel to Ireland and live out the love of Christ, even amidst violence, anger and apathy.  I love the words of this man as he prayed so very long ago, words that express my heart as well.  It is a cry for both protection and strength, no matter what is on the horizon, in the forecast, beneath our feet, unwieldy burdens in our arms, rocks and boulders on our paths, even surprises, mysteries, ambushes, high winds buffeting, and cliffs on our right.  Even then.  Even in this.

It is not just a cry for His strength but starting the day binding myself to Him, and knowing despite all, it is Christ who holds me fast.

I bind unto myself today
The strong name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One,
      and One in Three.

I bind this day to me for ever,
By power of faith,
      Christ's incarnation;
His baptism in the Jordan River;
His death on the cross
       for my salvation.
His bursting from the spiced tomb;
His riding up the heav'nly way;
His coming at the day of doom;
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God
            to hold and lead,
His eye to watch,
            His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need;
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide,
             His shield to ward,
The word of God to give me speech,
His heav'nly host to be my guard.

Against all Satan's spells and wiles,
Against false words of heresy,
Against the knowledge that defiles,
Against the heart's idolatry,
Against the wizard's evil craft,
Against the death-wound and the burning,
The choking wave, the poison'd shaft,
Protect me, Christ, till thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the name,
The strong name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One, and One in Three,
Of whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word.
Praise to the Lord of my salvation:
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

Not just words to a song

My husband and I attended the spring program at the pre-school where some of our grandchildren attend.  It seems at times a ludicrous exercise in placing dozens of tiny children on stage, some wandering around, some just staring at the crowd before them, the teacher often singing alone, and as to be expected a child weeping and one who waved continuously to his mom, totally oblivious to what he should be doing or where he was.

But we were fulfilling our mandate as grandparents:  Be there.  Be available. Whether it makes sense or not.

The children sang a variety of songs, including several Bible verses set to tunes.  And I was reminded how music engraves the words in a deeper way into our brains.

At one point our four year old granddaughter and her class were singing to the top of their lungs, "God is SO faithful."

Do they really understand what they are singing?   Do they have any idea even the mere definition of the word "faithful," let alone the magnitude of God's faithfulness?

And I was struck by my next thought:   Do we?

While I believe in God's faithfulness, while He has manifested His incredible faithfulness to me over the decades, while I see and know and believe and stake my life on Him,  I only know a mere glimpse of God's faithfulness.

Faithfulness is not just an adjective describing Him, faithful is Who He is.

Sing on, my dear children, sing on.  May God engrave that tune, those words, and that incredible truth in your minds and on your hearts.

And on ours.

Your faithfulness endures
             to all generations...

                        Psalm 119. 90

What is already there

Yesterday morning, I headed out early in the barely lit day to drive to the refugee clinic.  I was the lone car on this stretch of road, and it was like walking through a dark house with a tiny nightlight to guide my way.  Morning was coming.  It just wasn't quite here yet.

As I came down the big hill and around the bend of the winding pavement, over the swollen river towards the open fields, I traveled cautiously with my eye out for deer crossing the road.  But I was instead startled by a radiance slicing through the thick greyness of the horizon, even through what promised to be yet another dull sky.

That which came up from under the commonplace was a brilliant sunrise, as if to announce in every possible language that this is not just another day. There is no ordinary sunrise.  There are no ordinary days without the sacredness of the divine.  The breaking of the dawn continues even behind leaden skies, embedded in the order of things we trust without even thinking about it, a wonder ignored in the routines of the morning... or sleeping through the extraordinary. 

His glory casts the unexplainable all over its onset.  His faithfulness appears in every moment.  If I seek it or not, if I even see it or not, God is already there in our midst.  I am awed by the spectacular.  I should equally be beyond words for this day, even if I miss the light show at dawn, even if it rains yet another day.  It was on the cloudy days, He guided His people through the great wilderness.

I pulled over to the side of the road to take a picture, to grasp the evidence by my phone, to remember, to share.  But the tiny momentary image could not measure what I saw, neither words to describe it.

The Mighty One, God the LORD,
speaks and summons the earth
from the rising of the sun to its setting.
Out of Zion,
        the perfection of beauty,
God shines forth.

                           Psalm 50. 1-2

My day was changed by what I saw,
my heart transfixed by His glory in it.