Your words…

Know that the Lord has set apart the faithful for Himself; The Lord will hear when I call to Him. Be angry and do not sin; on Your bed, reflect in Your heart and be still.  Psalm 4:3-4

Yahweh, I remember Your name in the night, and I obey Your instruction. This is my practice: I obey Your precepts. Psalm 119:55-56

My words…

My bed pillow and I spend a lot of time together—at least nine hours a night, sometimes more. But our time together may not involve sleep. Most nights, I struggle to shake off the cares of my life and drift into peaceful slumber. Minutes of insomnia evolve into hours. Frustration mounts. I sigh. I toss. I consider a trip to the frig. And then, like the Psalmist, I remember You. I think about what you’re doing at that very moment. You’re not sleeping either. May as well spend some quality time together. I wish I could say our nighttime chats were life-changing epiphanies and visions of the heavenly realm featuring the Seraphim and Cherubim. Instead, they’re the ramblings of a person in need of sleep. Remember these gems?

*Jesus, if You were to show up in my hometown, would You invite Yourself to my house for lunch like You did to Zacchaeus? Would I have to climb a tree first? (These are serious issues at 3 a.m.)

*Is it all right if I hate Satan and refuse to forgive him? (We’re still working on this one.)

*John writes that You have gone to prepare a place for me somewhere I can’t see. Would you mind sending me a glimpse? (It’s not that I don’t trust Your taste. Just curious.)

*What is dark matter? Never mind. I think it’s cool that only You know. (I hope it stays that way.)

*Dinosaurs? Really?

I know for a fact the Psalmist never posed this sort of mess to You at night. But I also know that mess results in a small revelation from You. It may be a message of comfort I recall from scripture. (The Angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him.) Or it may be a sense of calm. (Everything will be all right.) You don’t seem to mind that I sound more like a four-year-old than a grown-up. For that, I am grateful.

Thank You, Lord, for the night. I don’t like the dark. It’s when the coyotes cry and the police sirens wail. But without the night, I’m afraid I would not (or could not) spend hours on end with You. You are my Light in the night. Dare I say, Night Light?

Your words…

For the High and Holy One who lives forever, whose name is holy, says this: “I live in a high and holy place and with the oppressed and lowly of spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and revive the heart of the oppressed.  Isaiah 57:15

Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted. Matthew 23:12

So, it is a sin for the person who knows to do what is good and doesn’t do it. James 4:17

My words…

A Prayer of Repentance

I wish I didn’t have to pray about sin. I would prefer to pray about sunbeams, chocolate cake, and butterfly kisses; unfortunately, those delights do not describe the state of my spirit. Not today. When I read Your words, I first ask You to teach me what You want me to learn. This week, You have been clearly leading me toward repentance. I asked. You showed me. I often pray for forgiveness in a broad sense, like fish caught in a net. You undoubtedly forgive me, and the fish swim away. Bye-bye sins. But You want me to honestly consider my thoughts and actions and lay them alongside Your will for me. Do they match up? Not lately.

My sins are not fish in a net. They are individual transgressions against You, none worse than the other, but each intentional. I sin on purpose. (May we pause for a slice of cake? No?) These words are hard to write, hard to admit. At this point along the path, I should be strong enough to keep Your spiritual armor in place at all times. I should. But it slips when I know to do good and don’t. It falls to the ground when I know the wrong and do it anyway.

So where does this leave me? On my knees. Heartbroken. Tearful. Guilty.

Here’s the good part: (With You there’s always a good part.) When I am on my knees, humble and lowly, I am with You in a high and holy place. I can’t see it with my hazel eyes. It’s a special, invisible place where I am revived in spirit and lifted to my feet to stand again.

Refreshed. Renewed. Exalted. Forgiven.

Sadly, I’ll sin again. But You never minded hanging out with sinners. Thank You, God.

Your words…

In the evening of that first day of the week, the disciples were fathered together with the doors locked because of their fear of the Jews. Then Jesus came, stood among them, and said to them, “Peace to you!” Having said this, He showed them His hands and His side. So the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. But Thomas was not with them when Jesus came. After eight days, His disciples were indoors again, and Thomas was with them. Even though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them. He said, “Peace to you!”  John 20:19-20, 24, 26

My words…

Following Your death, Jesus, Your disciples huddled in a locked room, fearing those responsible for killing You. Weighed down by grief, guilt, and confusion, they sought comfort in each other’s company. Questions without answers caromed off the walls.

And then, there You were. As if a locked door could keep You out. (Nice move, by the way!) The disciples did not comprehend that You had dismantled everything they knew about death. They weren’t thinking about death at all. You were in the room! Alive and speaking!

“Peace to you!” A perfect greeting, undoubtedly one they had heard You speak a hundred times on a hundred different occasions. Peace. Before You showed up, peace was woefully absent in the room. You spoke it into existence, just as You did at creation when You said, “Let there be light.”

Peace crowded out grief. Peace squashed guilt. It eclipsed confusion. A good thing since what You had planned for them could not be accomplished under such a cloud. Then, You repeated this scene since Thomas missed it the first time.

Your peace empowered the disciples to unlock the door. When they did, fear waiting to enter was overpowered by Your peace breaking out. They went out proclaiming Your peace so believers would never look at death the same again. I know I don’t.

I pray You step inside locked rooms (hearts) of those who are fearful of what lay outside the door. Fill them with Your peace, the by-product when death’s shackles are snapped by the Son of God.

Your words…

The Counselor, the Holy Spirit—the Father will send Him in My name—will teach you all things and remind you of everything I have told you. John 14:26

My words…

I wish I could take my thick, compacted brain and stretch it thin so all my memories would fall out in chronological order. I have forgotten more of my life than I remember. Like a puff of smoke, days, weeks, and years are gone. 

Here’s the pitiful truth: If it weren’t for photos, I would not remember my high school graduation or what my wedding dress looked like. I cannot recall the names of book characters in manuscripts I myself have written! Birthdays? Forget it (literally).

In Your eternal wisdom, You embedded me with a personal reminder—not the buzzing, dinging, sticky-note kind. Oh, no. You gifted me Your Spirit to remind me of what You want me to remember. Wedding dresses and birthdays don’t make the list.

Holy Spirit, I have asked You to bring to my mind the truth You would have me remember today. Your response:

Satan is real. He attacks. I have armor. (Ephesians 6)

Don’t conform. Transform.  (Romans 12)

When I’m walking a dark path, Your words light it up. (Psalm 119)

Jesus, You healed a blind man with holy spit. You can do anything. (John 19)

You are love. (the whole Bible)

Thank You for bringing Your words to the minds of Your disciples years after they were spoken. It makes for very good reading. The Apostle John remembered the words of one of Your prayers decades after You uttered it. This heart-felt, heart-breaking prayer takes up one entire chapter, more than 600 words (John 17). How comforted John must have been as he heard Your voice in his head and wrote each word.

I experience that same comfort when you bless my wispy memory with Your words of hope, peace, and wisdom. I don’t need to hear Your voice in my head. I hear it in my heart because that’s where You live.

Your words…

“Enter through the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the road is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who go through it. How narrow is the gate and difficult the road that leads to life, and few find it.” Matthew 7:13-14

My words…

Praise

There are so many passages of scripture that fill me with joy. This is not one of them. The joy I experience pondering the road that leads to life is tempered by the fact that few find it. Few find it because few search for it. How tragic. From the very beginning, You knew this would be the case, yet you never altered the eternal plan to send Your Son to die. And, Jesus, You died for the few, willingly.

Prayer for Me

Because the narrow gate is, well, narrow, I cannot expect to enter through it with my backpack filled with good works. It won’t fit. I could say, “Look at all the cool things I’ve done for others! Hey, I write a prayer blog.” I would then be lumped in with the folks you refer to in Matthew 7:22 who were shocked they were denied entrance even though they had some pretty amazing things in their backpacks: They could prophesy, drive out demons, and perform miracles. It isn’t what I’ve done for You. It’s what You have done for me. It isn’t who I am. It’s whose I am. Jesus, You are the gate. I must go through You to get onto the path that leads to Your Father and all He has in store for me (the joy and the suffering). I go through You just as I am: a sinful, contrite, surrendered soul, totally dependent on Your love and grace. I searched for You, and I found You (searching for me). Give me the strength to walk worthy of Your sacrifice, and forgive me when I hoist that backpack of works.

Prayer for others

The ironic thing about this passage is that so many people on earth know who You are. If I were to say to most anyone, “Name the Son of God who was crucified and rose on the third day,” most would answer Jesus. But knowing who You are and surrendering to You as their Lord is the difference between the broad and narrow ways. There are two and only two choices for us to make. One leads to life, the other to destruction. Today, I pray for every soul on the road to destruction. They do not possess the desire to search for You, to search for their Creator and Savior. Some believe the narrow way is traveled by the narrow-minded. Others believe the way to life is no life at all: too many “do nots.” I trust You, Holy Spirit, to do what You do best: Transform.

More Praise

Walking the narrow path with You as my Light is not always easy. I still stumble, but I don’t stumble alone. You are there. And so are the other precious FEW.

Your words…

I will lift up my hands to Your commands, which I love, and will meditate on Your statutes.  Psalm 119:48

My words…

Praise

On any given day, my arthritic, age-spotted hands could be accomplishing a number of things: making a sandwich, pulling a weed, washing my car. None of these acts precludes me from lifting my spiritual hands heavenward to You at any time (spiritual multi-tasking). Scripture depicts this act as a posture of praise, but, for me, I am not only praising, I am reaching—reaching for confirmation, for understanding, for wisdom.

I have found, however, that my posture of reaching happens more during times of stillness and sleeplessness. You and I make efficient use of boring car rides, waiting room layovers,  and erratic bouts of insomnia. Why meditate on the latest political debate when I could be exploring the boldness of Your encounters with the Pharisees? (My favorite: Blind guides! You strain out a gnat yet gulp down a camel.) Is scanning amusing social media posts worthy of my time when I could be weighing Your worldwide influence as Light of the World? And reflecting on eternity with You is more fulfilling compared to remembering my best day on earth. In other words, time spent reaching toward You is time best spent.

Prayer for me

Your promise of giving me whatever I ask of You is a comfort beyond measure. So, here is my request today: Grant me the wisdom to apply the fruit of our time together to my own life. It’s one thing to know your statutes. It’s another to layer them atop my thoughts and actions to reveal where Your light doesn’t shine through. Then, forgive me when I do nothing about it.

Prayer for others

Lord, I pray for those who regard Your commands and statutes as ancient musings, unrelated to modern society. As Solomon wisely stated, “There is nothing new under the sun.” Shine forth Your precepts in a world in desperate need of them. Only You know the best way to do it.

Thank You

Your servant, N. T. Wright writes, “God intended for people to search for him! Perhaps even reach out for him and find him!”¹ (Italics mine) I read this just after I decided to write this prayer to You. Thank You for another amazing “coincidence!”

More praise

One of the many blessings I experience when reaching for You is that You are so easy to find. Being omnipresent is a trait for which I neglect to praise You often enough. You’re always there and always will be. When I step away from the confines of my world and reach for You, could it be You were reaching for me first? Hmm. Something to ponder.

¹Wright, N. T., Paul, 2018, Harper One

Your words…

My words…

As a kid, I remember Valentine’s Day school parties as being times of great consternation. Each year, I chose a box of flimsy, cartoon-character-infused cards with matching flimsy envelopes to give to each of my classmates. My teacher insisted that every student would receive a valentine from every other student which meant I was forced to give a card to Glen, my arch enemy. I gnashed my teeth. I hated Glen. You were there, Lord, when he punched me in the stomach in kindergarten. You watched him strip a thin branch from a tree and slice a welt across my bare leg while we waited at the bus stop. He was mean. He was a bully. He didn’t deserve a valentine. When I sorted through the cards, I always chose the one I liked the least and gave that one to Glen. It was my only recourse.

Looking back, I remember wishing him ill. During the warm summer days when the neighborhood kids played at the park, I hated when he showed up with his strut and scowl. He didn’t deserve to have fun like the rest of us. He spoiled the fun. When the park director kicked him out for hitting a kid with a knock hockey stick, I gloated. A few years later, Glen and his family moved away, but I never forgot him because he was the first person I hated.

My relationship with Glen was a teaching lesson from You, Jesus. I remember vividly what it felt like to hate. It felt dark. It felt abnormal, and I never wanted to feel that way again. Now I am grown, and I see Glen from a different perspective: a kid who was never happy because there was no happiness in his home. I have had many opportunities to walk the path of hate. I praise You as the One who gives me the wisdom to recognize it for what it is: a dark and dangerous path to tread. I am a child of the light. That is where you want me to dwell. That is where I belong.

Thank You, Lord, for sending me messages of love from Your word, from our meditations, from Your creation. Not just on February 14, but every day.

Valentine’s Day should be a time of sharing love, chocolate and flowers with others, not a day of thinking of those we hate. But then again, perhaps it’s the perfect day to do so.