Up until now I’ve been using this blog to figure out what I think about a number of things. I think last week was the end of that, or an end of one part of it. It’s time, I think, to start doing different work here.
Today I’ve been scouring Audible.com looking for books on prayer. It’s one of those times when I wish I could read. A lot of the Christian writing available in audio form has a strong evangelical bent, and while I engage with an evangelical community, one that mostly is able to celebrate the love of God without legalism, this isn’t always true in the literature I am able to find.
To manage a book on prayer I’m going to need to open way wide and let a teacher in.
I pray every day, morning and night. I don’t know if I do it right. Is there ‘right’ in this case? Increasingly I sing before I pray, and increasingly I feel the spirit move, my hands come up, and I feel the fire. I want to say ‘the fire of the Holy Spirit’ but I don’t know that. when a congregation is in worship, and the fire is moving, is that God, or is it just fire among the congregation? When I do it alone I am a little more sure of it.
And I pray generally two specific prayers. In the morning I pray that God will take each moment, each passage, the dross, the pain, the scruff, the small pleasures, the sorrow, all of it, and make it His own. That each piece of my life is owned by Him. In the evening I pray “You are my Home and my Destination. All my roads lead to You. Sometimes I’m lonely, lost, sick, or sad. But still I am on my way Home.”
I’d like to learn more about other kinds of prayer. I’m very uncertain about intercessory prayer. How can we be asking for things? If I am blind, it must be inside God’s plan, or I wouldn’t be. It seems to fall somewhere between effrontery and lack of faith to pray for my vision to be restored.
I feel my life changing a little. It makes me want more.
and so I came into Youas one might come into a garden
and being there suddenly find
that there is no other place
that the garden, which seemed bound from without
has no bounds within it
and that all experience was planted there
I am made a geode
brown scruff without
scruff that, since it thinks, must think itself scruff
holding within it momentless time
a holy storm
a garden at its eye