Don’t Waste the Words of the World: Raising Children of Truth
[Condensed version originally published HERE at www.desiringgod.org]
I love words.
Our eyes feast on them, our ears soak them in, our fingers form them, our mouths sing them and confess them. They shape our minds and transform our hearts. Through them, life was born (Genesis 1:3) and through them, life is saved (John 1:1).
Words change us. From the time my children could speak them and hear them, I’ve attempted to teach them that words matter. That they should be chosen well and with care. That they should be true. Like many families, our rules, sayings, and governing principles revolve around words:
“Speak with gentleness.”
“Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean it should be said.”
“Don’t take joy in being the bearer of bad news.”
“Are you being a peace-maker or peace-breaker?”
“Don’t speak poorly of others.”
“Are your words building up or tearing down?”
Words Shape Beliefs
Actions are immensely important and are said to speak louder, but if you think about it, words in some form generally precede action. Words are heard or read, processed and pondered — and beliefs are formed. And in the end, actions reflect those beliefs. That makes words unbelievably precious in parenting.
When faced with shaping our children, we’re really up against shaping their belief systems, their axioms, their philosophies — their hearts. We’re helping them separate truth from fiction and build the foundation of their faith. Their choices and decisions (like ours) display what they actually believe about the world, about themselves, and about God.
This shaping isn’t a onetime thing, but an ongoing, organic, multi-faceted process:
“Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds. . . . Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” (Deuteronomy 11:18–19)
It’s the teaching and talking as we go about our days and evenings — errands, activities, and everyday lives. Sometimes conversations can go where a sermon cannot.
Shrewd Doves
We raise our babies to send them out like sheep among wolves. It can’t be avoided. Teach them to be “shrewd as snakes” and “innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16). Just one or the other, would result in cynicism or naiveté, but the prudence, insight, and defensive posture of a serpent paired with the meekness, gentleness, and purity of a dove is a powerful thing.
Missionaries are sent out after being taught the culture, language, and struggles of the people they’re being sent to — not to adapt, but to impact. Sending off our children should require no less forethought. Don’t throw them into the deep end expecting them to fight the current, without teaching them to swim.
Teaching our kids to be light to the world’s darkness and salt to the world’s decay doesn’t mean dragging them towards every speck of sin and horror. It’s embarking hand-in-hand on our pilgrimage, fearlessly progressing through the inevitable shadows and rot, showing them how to illuminate and preserve. Because light scatters the darkness and the gates of hell can’t prevail against Christ and his church.
There’s not a single square inch in this broken world where truth cannot be found or darkness cannot be dispelled.
Start ’Em Young
Children are never too young for truth. Don’t underestimate the faith of a child and the power of the Spirit, when they’re still willing to hold our hand and hear our voice. Resist the dumbed-down, shallow, entertaining words that so easily placate their little minds and ears. C.S. Lewis said, “A book worth reading only in childhood is not worth reading even then” — and I tend to believe the same goes for movies, and music, and TV shows, and yes, even our methods for teaching them the Bible.
We can’t expect deep souls that yearn for the truth and beauty of God when we feed them from infancy a steady diet of superficial, sugary-sweet frivolousness. Surround them with what’s good, and true, and excellent so they can readily find and identify it out in the world. We can spot lies when we’ve been soaked in truth.
Letting Go
As our children grow, it’s hard knowing when to start loosening that grip. But God has not given us a spirit of fear, and our faith is in something that can’t be shaken. Each child is different and discretion is essential, but let’s not act as if our God could be toppled by talk of million-year-old dinosaur bones, or atheism, or Santa Claus, or secular song lyrics, or stories with magic wands…. A strong foundation is thoughtful, but not fearful of such things.
As my kids begin developing their own tastes and interests, it’s an active exercise of taking deep breaths, praying for wisdom, and pointing out truth and fiction behind the words coming at us. At first, my efforts are met with eye rolls, but before long, they can’t help but begin to see the same things in words:
“Daughter, do you think someone who talks about loving your body like that singer does would be good at caring for your soul and loving your mind?”
“Wow, that author has an amazing imagination and talent for weaving plots together. Even someone who doesn’t know God can’t help but use his gifts and reflect the yearnings he’s put in us.”
“What is this commercial selling us, and how are they trying to do it?”
“Look at how the world loves beauty, and strength, and happiness, and power…what a great glimpse of how we’re created to be utterly satisfied by God. Their desires are far too weak.”
“Listen to that longing in those lyrics. I don’t think they know God, but man, are they searching for him.”
“Anyone who hears about that kind of violence knows this isn’t how the world is supposed to be. Come again, Lord Jesus, and make new what we’ve broken.”
“I know that kid used inappropriate words and treated you wrongly, but it’s usually the hurt who try to hurt. Let’s pray for him and think of ways to encourage him so he feels cared for and valued.”
“Listen to the wonder that scientist has for the world and its details and systems! It’s amazing how even those who don’t believe in God can teach us so much about our Creator, clearly behind the intricacies and loveliness.”
Greater is He Who Is in Us
We hurriedly cover their eyes and ears, when oftentimes, leading them to truth behind the reality, will soak in far deeper. Our worry that the world will change our children should be overshadowed by our hope that Christ will transform them. How often do I get in the way of the Spirit, as my child works out their faith? As I loosen my grip, it’s a humbling, breathtaking process watching my children see God in places I often overlook:
“I love mythology, but it’s crazy that people actually saw these guys as gods. I’m glad our God is different.”
“[Changing radio station, unprompted] Ugh, I love the tune of that song, but the words are foolish and gross.”
“I’m glad God can fight evil like those characters do, but he doesn’t need a wand or spells when he does it.”
“Do you think that scientist realizes the ‘Big Bang’ he’s describing just sounds like God?”
“Ha, they said you can do anything if you just believe in yourself. That’s ridiculous.”
Using the World’s Words for the Glory of God
We can’t control our children’s hearts, but we can point them to truth. Ask the Spirit for it. Speak it. Pray it. Teach it. Talk about it. Live it.
Teach them to be shrewd with the alluring, twisted, contradictory voices and seek the truth buried underneath — to find the common ground and rejoice in it. Teach them to listen to the broken, grieving, outraged cries and respond back with truth, depth, beauty, and love. Teach them to filter out what’s true and pure and excellent and praise-worthy amongst the billions of words being funneled into our minds and dwell on those (Philippians 4:8). Teach them to juxtapose what’s said against what’s known to be true, exposing it for what it really is (Luke 8:17). Teach them to take words uttered in darkness and strip them of their power, putting them to work for the Kingdom of God (Genesis 50:20).
The longer I parent, the more I realize I can’t hide or hold back the world’s words from my kids. It’s easy to frantically try to plug every little hole in the dam, hoping my children remain perfectly dry and unsoiled from the deluge of opinions and ideas coming at them — selectively sprinkling them with the holy water of my choosing. It can be a noble endeavor.
But the real beauty is raising children who can rise above those flood waters, swim against the current, navigate the changing tides, and help save those who are drowning. Children who don’t waste the words of this world, but use them to display the truth and glory of their Savior.
Give me a Faith that Can be Planted in the Sea
Faith is able to pluck from the earth, and plant in the sea.
That which could never root or stand among the waves and the storms, apart from the upholding and anchoring of our Almighty.
It’s not our mustard-seed-faith that is great, it’s the great God whom our tiny faith is in. The uprooter of mulberries and mover of mountains…
[Luke 17:6]
Parenting a Full Quiver with a Barren Heart
[Originally published HERE at www.DesiringGod.com]
I had assumed I’d be a great mom. I liked kids, came from a large family, was in high demand during my babysitting heyday, and thought of myself as a decently patient individual.
Then I had children.
Desperately turning to the books and the blogs, I put together my game plan for how I was supposed to be navigating these hard and holy trenches of Christian mothering: delighting in my children, sacrificing for my family, “choosing joy,” being appropriately content with dishes and diapers, and reminding everyone how much “children are a blessing” — because my heart was supposed to be full.
In reality though, my hands were full and my heart was weary.
Parenting was really hard for me in ways I just hadn’t expected. I had faced hard things my whole life as obstacles to conquer and overcome, but parenting was different. No powering through by sheer will, no knocking it out and moving on to the next thing, no easy means of measuring my successes. Was I joyful enough? Was I sacrificial enough? Was I content enough? Was I delighting in everyone enough?
Idol Swap
God was using parenting to sanctify my stubbornly independent, self-sufficient soul. But quietly, unexpectedly, I simply exchanged one idol for another. I had traded in the American Dream of pursuing a successful career for a more religious version of pursuing perfect parenting. While this idol seemed far more holy and sacrificial, in reality it pointed to myself just as much, and was equally as heavy to carry.
I don’t remember exactly when it hit me. Somewhere around the time we started struggling with secondary infertility, and miscarriage, and parenting really difficult and high-energy toddlers, I realized that while I seemed to be checking all the right boxes, my soul felt as parched and lifeless as it had all those years prior when I’d been running from God.
In attempts to fight against a world that suggests otherwise, we can hear so much about the worth and value of motherhood that it becomes dangerously easy to feel as if motherhood is where we attain our worth and value. Satan is just as happy to see us put motherhood or parenting before God as a successful career or self-fulfillment.
How Beautiful Becomes Barren
When motherhood becomes our main focus rather than seeking Christ before and above all else, we are exchanging truth for lies and carrying burdens we were not designed to carry. Idol-carrying always makes beautiful things into barren things. As I walk this path of parenting God has placed before me, I’ve noticed some of the idolatrous lies I’m particularly prone to clinging to.
- Family First
We often hear far more about delighting in our children than delighting in the Lord, easily directing our focus away from what should be our source of delight (Psalm 37:4). Our lives must revolve around Christ, not our family, for we cannot nourish their souls if we neglect our own. Be filled first with the joyful, sacrificial, delightful love of Christ and let it overflow into the lives of those around us. We will be significantly better parents and spouses when we do this. Relying on anything else to fill our family is putting our faith and hope for transformation in something other than him.
Whether it’s trying to be a great parent or spouse, being hospitable, making healthy meals, being content in our domestic duties, desiring good behavior from our kids, providing them with a good education — or thousands of other great and godly things — let us count them all as loss compared to “the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:8).
- Sacrifice Is All God Wants
You don’t have to be a Christian to give up your wants for those you love. However, as children of God, our serving should draw attention from ourselves to our Father. Not shouting from the rooftops that parenting is the world’s most important job, attacking anyone who suggests a stay-at-home mom isn’t the hardest job on the planet, or always reminding our children and spouse how much we do for them.
Sacrifice can be just as intoxicating as pleasure, and both are wasted when they’re self-centered rather than God-exalting. The Pharisees sacrificed to garner attention and respect, touting their way as the most holy way as they focused on the sacrifice itself. Jesus called them fools for thinking their sacrifice itself was somehow intrinsically holy without the desperate act of placing it upon the altar of a holy God who gives it its worth and value (Matthew 23:1–28).
Only when we devote our sacrifice of parenthood to sacred use, for God’s glory, does it become holy.
- Self Instead of the Spirit
One of the heaviest idols we often carry as parents is the burden of self — the idea that it’s all up to us. That our choices dictate who our children become or what kind of parents we will be. Those choices do matter, but ultimately our trust and reliance on God and the work of his Spirit will shape our children more than anything else we could ever say or do. Commit your parenting to the Lord, trust in him, and watch him act (Psalm 37:5).
Drink from the fountain of God’s free, refreshing peace. And do it in the eyes of your children, praying that the Spirit would lead them to do the same (Isaiah 58:11).
Full Quiver, Barren Heart
Parenthood is not some intrinsic means to becoming more holy (in my case, I’m not sure anything has exposed my deeply-rooted sins so quickly and repeatedly), but it is merely one means God chooses to slowly, often painfully, chip away parts of us that aren’t him. We must not focus so much on the chisel that we forget about the Sculptor. Parenting changes us all, but the true and eternal beauty of it comes from the One whose loving hands are using it to patiently shape us into his image.
We can have a quiver-full of children (Psalm 127:4–5) and yet a heart that is barren and sterile, if we are more consumed by God’s gifts than by him. Our children can (and should) be life-changing blessings, but they will never save our soul. Our transformation is not dependent on any particular season or circumstance, but by tasting and seeing that the Lord is good (Psalm 34:8), and knowing his words and truth will not return void.
My highest calling is not marriage or motherhood, but to glorify God and enjoy him forever. This does not make all of the weariness of parenting magically disappear, but it should remind us that the source of our strength and worth is not something we could ever fail or lose. It reminds us not to waste the blessings or to despise the weariness, but to give it all back to Christ so he can break it, multiply it, and hand back to us something far greater.
The Art of Womanliness
[Originally published HERE at www.desiringgod.org]
What does it mean to be a woman?
Few things evoke such emotion as someone questioning, or attempting to define, what it means to be a woman — especially, in my case, a Christian woman. The overarching concept of womanhood trickles down into so many of our roles and relationships that it can easily become the currency by which we measure our worth. We vehemently resist anything that might threaten the foundation of womanliness we’ve defined for ourselves.
What Matters Today?
Lately, I’ve devoted a lot of bandwidth to thinking about and studying the complexities of biblical womanhood, submission, and other gender controversies. One evening, I sat down and began furiously organizing my thoughts and observations into meaningful, impactful words and sentences meant to analyze and “solve” the issues. . . .
And then I stopped. I looked at my passionately penned words and hesitated. Not so much over the words themselves, but the why behind them.
How will grasping these profound theological ideas before I climb into bed impact who I am when I climb back out in the morning? Will my day look different? Will I be a different wife, or mother, or friend? My current struggles and sins would still be there to greet me with the sunrise. I’ve never wanted to be another vague and distant voice adding to the noise.
So I put away my notes and went to bed wrestling with God. What do I need to know about womanhood right now? The next morning, as I woke up to the sun and its colors and God’s beautiful new mercies, I stepped out of bed with the question pressing on my soul, “How will I be an excellent woman and reflect God’s beauty today?”
The Always-Pressing Question
How do I reflect God’s beauty today? This is the question that should be at the forefront of our mind, longing for an answer every hour. It’s what lies beneath all our labels and arguments and definitions — whether you’re a young wife or a grandmother, single or married, eight-years-old or eighty.
It’s the question that mattered when I waved goodbye to the bus carrying my children off to public school, and it mattered when I sat for hours schooling them at home. It mattered when I was waitressing twelve-hour shifts, when I was in D.C. editing military plans to combat weapons of mass destruction, and when I was changing diapers and mediating temper tantrums as a stay-at-home mom.
Like a carefully chosen tattoo on the forearm, we imagine the perfectly defined self-identification will mark us so powerfully as to change how we are perceived in the world. We believe our ideologies or labels will magically make us more obedient and holy or a crusader who cares more about social justice or oppression — without the cost of actually living it out.
Too often, the vortex of discourse surrounding biblical womanhood blinds us to what it means to live excellently and reflect the beautiful image of God in this very moment, in the next thing we do, or type, or say.
Tell the Story of the Beautiful God
As women, our strengths, our beauty, our value, and the essence of who we are, come from our Creator — the one whose image we bear —long before the gender debates of the twentieth century. My Maker defined me when he selectively impressed his fingerprints upon me as I was formed. He defines all women when he intentionally creates us to reflect unique facets of his beauty.
What does it mean to be an excellent woman, today? It is to tell that story with strength and passion, to magnify the beauty of Christ and delight ourselves in the joy of God as we reflect him in our own unique ways.
Satan hates beauty because he hates the one it reflects. He does his best to destroy it and abuse it and oppress it and contort it into reflecting the broken world rather than God. If he can’t destroy it, he is content to see us spend our days fighting and writing about it. Satan is happy to see us discuss the beauty of womanhood all we want — so long as it distracts us from living it. There is a way to be so paralyzed by every new “how-to,” and so divided by debate that we will never get around to actually submitting our lives to God with a willingness to be led by him wherever it may take us.
A Partial Picture of an Infinite Artwork
We often work backward, focusing so much on presenting ourselves to the world as image-bearers of our chosen ideologies, forgetting whose image we were made to bear. God’s glory needs to overflow into every single aspect of what we do as women — this is what it means to be conformed to the image of Christ.
But what does this look like?
Since the infinite God is the source of our beauty, we could never paint a complete picture of what an excellent and biblical woman looks like. Knowing the source of our beauty and excellence should give us purpose in the small things and humility in the big things. True beauty is not subjective — there are things which are not beautiful — but it is infinite, in that there are endless ways to truly reflect our Artist.
It’s letting go of what my fists are so tightly clenched onto when I’m fighting with my husband. It’s identifying the places my mind wanders when I’m angry or anxious. It’s seeking God’s kingdom at the expense of my own. It’s treating my body as a temple, but not an idol (1 Corinthians 6:19). It’s being greatly saddened by my sin, but joyful in God’s forgiveness of it. It’s putting aside the lesser things that hold me occupied to hold or read to my child, and it’s allowing someone else to hold or read to that same child when God puts other duties before me.
It might be letting others lead when I feel the most equipped, or leading when I feel most unable, because God’s power is perfected in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). It might be keeping quiet when I feel like shouting, or loudly proclaiming when I feel too timid to even whisper. It might be serving others when I most want to be served; it might be resting when serving draws people to me rather than Christ.
It’s doing my work with excellence. It’s allowing my womanhood and its beauty and its answers to be the fruit of God’s spirit within me, rather than my focus.
The Art of Womanliness
That’s biblical womanhood — the art of womanliness, if you will. It is actually living so beautifully and excellently that the symphony of our lives draws others to the infinite beauty of our designer, drowning out the provocative siren song of the world, whose fleeting and shallow beauty lures only to ugly brokenness.
Art can reflect but never surpass its artist, and when we climb out of bed with the goal of being a masterpiece whose beauty reflects our creator for his glory in the very next thing we do — only then will the ripples of our faithfulness carry on for eternity.
Detox Your Soul
[Originally published HERE at www.DesiringGod.com]
When times become turbulent, it’s easy to lose focus. We may feel like the disciples in Matthew 14 on a ship in the middle of the sea, tossed by angry waves and battered by contrary winds. We fear disaster, we question the trajectory of the ship, we forget to row, we overlook how our own sin or faith impacts the storm, we cry out in fear instead of truth, or maybe we fail to look to the one who can calm the sea.
Storms can be consuming and so easily distract us from the state of our hearts, the gaze of our eyes, the words of our mouths, and the actions we should be taking. Before we know it, we are likely in serious need of a spiritual detox — a cleansing, purging, recalibrating, invigorating soul treatment.
While there are many places in scripture we could go, my favorite tends to be Psalms. Something about the way it covers so many ranges of seasons and emotions compels me turn to its pages when I’m not exactly sure where to go. It is raw, relatable, deep, convicting, beautiful, thought-provoking and heart-provoking. There are so many truths to meditate on, prayers to borrow, promises to declare, words to memorize — it can be just the place to begin a detox on four key areas of my spiritual life:
- My Heart:
This is where I begin, as my heart is always the first thing in desperate need of a detox. We can’t effectively fight the Lord’s battles if we neglect the war in our own hearts. Countless times I have tried, advancing in haste or self-righteousness before realizing it’s my own battle I’m fighting, and I must go to my knees to stop, repent, and reset. When times are tumultuous and emotions are high we must be particularly vigilant about sin creeping in. The enemy knows when there is much at stake.
The way the psalmist pours out his soul, encourages me to do the same, as I search my heart before the Lord.
“Test me, Lord, and try me, examine my heart and my mind” (Psalm 26:2). Ask the Lord to examine, prove, and try our hearts and our minds, as if testing a metal to determine value and genuineness. We are prone to be partial to ourselves and make allowances where we should not. Lord, determine the deep motives of my heart and actions, for only you can correct them.
“But who can discern their own errors? Forgive my hidden faults. Keep your servant also from willful sins; may they not rule over me” (Psalm 19:12-13). Our greatest temptations come not from about, but from within — from the secret sins that begin in our hearts and give birth to almost every evil deed. They are so easily disguised from ourselves and from others — pride as conviction, self-sufficiency as diligence, fear as attentiveness, skepticism as discernment, timidity as humility, gossiping as caring, lukewarm-ness as temperance, vengeance as justice, selfishness as self-care, laziness as patience, self-righteousness as righteousness. Lord, forgive my secret sins and help me be diligent in identifying and cleansing them before they enslave my heart, because they will apart from you.
“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). The state of our heart is not something that can merely be mended — it is corrupted and we need a new one, a clean and pure one. We are justified once, but sanctified continually. We should desire that purification with persistence. Every day. Every hour. It frees us to experience his joy. Lord, give me a spirit that is constant, steady and determined, no longer bound and disgraced by my sinfulness. I need your word to speak into it, your Spirit to move upon it, and your Son’s blood to wash over it.
“Teach me your way, O Lord, and I will walk in your truth; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name” (Psalm 86:11). Ask that the Lord instruct our steps, for without his teaching we will go astray. Ask that we will live and act in accordance to God’s truth and pursue his will, not our own truth or our own will. Ask that God would join all the purposes, resolutions, and affections of our hearts into a singular purpose to worship, obey, and honor him, because that is our end-game. This is a prayer that should be on the tongue of every Christian. Lord, direct my steps and give me an undivided heart, for if that is wanting, all will be wrong.
2. My Eyes:
There are a million things we can look to, but the psalmist reminds us where to set our gaze. Like a compass in need of recalibration, we will be prone to wander if our eyes are set on the wrong things.
“Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things; and give me life in your ways” (Psalm 119:37). There are so many things likely to lead us astray from what is real and true, and our incessant prayer should be that God would make our eyes pass quickly over them. In the words of Albert Barnes, a nineteenth century theologian, “Make my eyes to pass rapidly from such objects, that I may not look at them, may not contemplate them, may not dwell upon them. There is danger in looking on sin steadily; in surveying its features; in returning to contemplate it.” Lord, every day and every minute, graciously turn my eyes from anything that could block my view of you, for you alone lead to life.
“I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken” (Psalm 16:8). What is continually before our eyes is of the utmost importance because it shapes us. If we lock our gaze upon our Lord amidst the struggle, the pain, and the change — we will be anchored and not disturbed by fear. Lord, help me act and regard myself whether night or day, in private or in public, as always in your presence. You are my anchor, may my eyes never wander from you.
“You will make known to me the path of life; in your presence is fullness of joy; in your right hand there are pleasures forever” (Psalm 16:11). In the words of Augustine, “Lord, show me the road I must travel that I may see you.” God’s hand will provide us with not simply pleasure but *eternal* pleasure, and not merely joy but *full* joy. Lord, may I look to you to continually reveal the path that leads to life, for you are the author of joy and pleasure and you alone can provide them fully and eternally.
3. My Words:
The psalmist knew the power of words. He used them to create beautiful poems of praise, to poignantly pierce the soul, to paint glorious pictures of God’s character. Words have the power to build or break, to decimate or make — choose them with wisdom. They flow out of our heart, so if they are a continual struggle go back to number one.
“May these words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord my Rock and my redeemer” (Psalm 19:14). May our lips speak nothing that is not true, kind, and profitable. Meditate on what is pleasing to the Lord, because he is the fountain and origin of them, and that’s what should overflow. These sorts of words carry power when offered in the strength of our redeemer, as opposed to our own efforts. Lord, help every word that comes out of my mouth be pleasing to you, and draw others to your strength and your loving salvation.
“We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the Lord, and his might, and the wonders that he has done” (Psalms 78:4). Let us be a generation that is faithful in speaking the truths we have been entrusted with, handing them off to the future generations. Not corrupting the truths or using them to fulfill our own agendas, but speaking them in order to draw attention to and advance the works of the Lord so that he might be praised. Not for our own glory, but for his. Lord, may the great things you have done, ever be on my lips!
“I say to the LORD, ‘You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you.'” (Psalms 16:2). God is our good, all of it. Apart from him we have none and we can’t add to his goodness in any way. The entirety of our sin and death can be exchanged for the entirety of his goodness and life, and though our flesh will fight against this daily while we’re here, our redeemed soul can rest in his complete goodness from here until eternity. God, you are the Lord of my life, and every good thing I have is because of you. Help me rest in you as my portion, my hope, and my stay.
4. My Actions
When the world is weighing heavily on my soul, my first instinct is often to retreat. To pull away from the heaviness and stop rowing — forgetting that God’s way is not necessarily ending the storm but giving me the strength to row in my weariness. *He* is our rock and our strength, we needn’t be paralyzed.
Let his love and truth lead to action. Not that we must never rest, but while the world tells us to spend our days caring for ourselves so we’ll have the strength to fight our own battles, God flips that on its head. He tells us to give up our own battles, rest in Christ, and use his strength to fight for and serve others so they can enjoy the rest and peace that we’ve been given. So many are in need of healing and help at this moment and when we purge our pride and our sin, our actions that follow have the potential to bring great glory to God.
“Turn from evil and do good. Seek peace and pursue it” (Psalm 34:4). Act intentionally in ways that decline and shun the evil that is near in this fallen world, and at the same time, search out good to be done as directed or suggested by God’s word, in faith and love for the glory of God, and in the strength and grace of Christ. Lord, help me do good for others in ways that will have eternal impact, and seek ways to live peaceably with all — as something worthy to be pursued, not just when it’s offered but when it’s difficult.
“Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed” (Psalm 82:3). Over and over throughout the psalms, we are reminded that we are the natural protectors under God of the weak, the poor, and the oppressed because they often have no one to defend them. Lord, may I always see that right is done to those who need an advocate. At all times and for all peoples.
“Direct my footsteps according to your word; let no sin rule over me” (Psalm 119:133). As we act, my not just our life but our *daily* life, not just our paths but our *steps* be habitually obedient to God’s will. It’s in these small, seemingly mundane spaces that we can often reflect God’s glory the brightest as we walk with him step-by-step through this life into the next. We have no hope of properly arranging them for his utmost glory, apart from him. Lord, order my steps and kill my sin. May you alone be my ruler.
Spiritual Detox Leads to Life
In the words of Charles Spurgeon:
“Come divine Spirit, and exercise Your cleansing power upon us according to Your promise. … Oh, that everything might help us toward purity, for we crave it. We attend the things of the Spirit, and there is groaning within us to be utterly delivered from the things of the flesh, so that we may be a cleansed temple in spirit, soul, and body, fit for the indwelling of the Holy One of Israel. Lord, help us, we pray, in our daily lives, to be as Christ was. … In all ways, may we seek the good of our fellowmen and the glory of our God.”
While our flesh will never fully stop battling against our redeemed souls in this broken world, the more we live as ones aware of this contention — diligently ready to identify and confess our vices — the more God can use us for his purposes in his glorious battles that always lead to life. A spiritual detox, though potentially difficult at the time, enables us to more clearly hear the Spirit’s voice and see our Savior’s face. Whether in the loud storms, the drenching rains, or those contrary winds, we are able to press on for the prize with Christ in view and excitement in our hearts — pursuing things unseen as we walk in the way of life and our Lord.
The Ugly Snapshots
I tend to write what I’m learning. What I am being convicted of, or truths God is putting before me over and over until my slow processor at long last recognizes the patterns and repetitions as the pictures they were meant to be, or in the very least that they are pictures. Sometimes beautiful pictures, sometimes ugly ones — ugly in that they capture weakness or brokenness or messiness. Though stirring I suppose, in the way that they are snapshots of something real and unfiltered and I am grateful for the glimpse of something as it is, rather than how I’d like it to be.
I then attempt to study and organize and string together these various snapshots into clear and meaningful strands that convey something truthful and useful and practical. It helps me attach meaning to those raw segments of life and emotion. It motivates me to seek God for answers and look for his providential thread being woven in my life. It excites me to share those fragments all sensically strung together in the hopes that others might appreciate the masterpieces God is slowly weaving in my life and more easily identify the ones being woven in their own.
It’s a craft I enjoy and see the utility of, but the more I do it, the more I’m starting to realize the limitations of it. I’ll have seasons and bursts of productivity when I feel as if I can barely write quickly enough to capture and properly organize all the pictures God is putting before me, like one of those old-fashioned slide projectors being advanced way too fast to really savor and experience the fleeting images. And then nothing. Though nothing isn’t quite the right word, because so often I’m thinking and feeling more than ever, but I feel as if I’m staring at a messy pile of snapshots, that aren’t particularly lovely or related and I just can’t quite figure out how to string them together into something logical or useful. Not as a lack of transparency, or a desire to only show the pretty things, because I’ve never been one to shy away from sharing my hard things or my struggles — more so a desire to share them in the most useful way possible. Isn’t it what we do with those ugly things that makes them beautiful?
And that’s often my problem, for as deeply as I think and feel about so many things, I’m hopelessly practical — even utilitarian at times. As if I’m stuck at the extreme ends of all the personality profiles and can’t figure out how to consistently migrate to the middle of any of them, which is where you feel like everything is supposed to mesh and all the magic happens.
Like when you realize you haven’t posted on Instagram in ages, and you flip through your photos and all you seem to have are utilitarian screenshots and grocery lists and things you’re selling on craigslist, or else those blurry shutter clicks of weeping babies or shattered coffee mugs sitting in puddles of never-sipped coffee, merely meant to quickly communicate life as it’s happening to your husband at work. In ways that effortlessly convey the depths of your emotions at that very second without necessitating words you don’t feel like (or probably shouldn’t be) forming. And you realized you haven’t documented anything in weeks that isn’t either sterile or blubbering — no feelings or all of them.
But I’m starting to realize that maybe I’m missing out on the value of trying to see God in those individual and unrelated snapshots. Maybe those micro-moments in life are meant to be lessons in and of themselves, and while I don’t know for sure, I do know that the uncertainty and unknowingness of it all is doing things to me that I think I need, even though I can’t quite articulate exactly what they are yet.
Perhaps I should start writing more often without having outlined exactly where it’s going to go and how it’s going to end. Maybe I need to practice and learn how to look and listen for God and his truths in all the little moments when I haven’t yet figured out the point or the lesson, or if there even is one.
That one paragraph I’ve re-read five times, in the book I’ve been trying to read for weeks but keep getting interrupted.
Those intense discussions about politics that bring out so many thoughts and so few answers.
The moments when I hate these culturally tumultuous times for revealing so much ugliness in the body of Christ, and yet I catch glimpses of realness and truth and feel like something better is just maybe beginning to emerge, albeit slowly.
That great dinner date I finally get to have with my husband where we at last share some food and drinks and excitement that God must be doing big things, but we can’t figure out for the life of us what they are.
Those conversations that are equal parts hard and frustrating and deep and true. And I can’t tell if we’ve moved forward or backward.
That acknowledgment that I’m struggling in so many areas of parenting, and I’m ready to make big changes, but can’t quite make them stick.
That realization that we’ve been “moving” for six months now and still have no forwarding address and still can’t figure out what God has for us in a town I don’t really want to be in, but I know it’s just gotta be something.
Those moments when I profoundly miss the community and ministry and relationships I had to leave, yet I know I’m being purposefully altered by the deep lessons God is carving out in my soul in all the quietness.
Those days when I have to fall to my knees over and over again because my ugly sin keeps re-surfacing and my knees are sore and I’m tired, but I feel profoundly impacted by all that time I’ve spent before a holy God.
Those few words of scripture that will pierce my soul unexpectedly, though I couldn’t even tell you why.
Those hours that string into days and months, and I live them feeling as if nothing is happening and nothing is changing and yet I feel like a completely different person than who I was half a year ago. Maybe in good ways, but I don’t feel quite ready for that adjective yet — more so, deep ways.
And if our God is the Lord of our lives, he’s also the Lord of our minutes and our seconds.
He already sees every single snapshot of my life from beginning to end. From the time he called me into this world to the time he’ll carry me out. And even the times I am unable to picture how they’ll all fall out into lovely arranged collages, or identify the chapters or even guess tomorrow’s pages, I know they are not haphazardly placed. Each one has a story and an aim and significance, even if only for the fingers that placed them there and the one who was with me as it was taken. There is value right then and right there in the things not fully understood, regardless of what is made of them later.
And I find comfort in words written long ago, reminding me of our wise and loving God who is directing all these mixed up snapshots of my life, as he soothes my heart into patience, lifts it in hope, and floods it with courage for the times ahead, whatever they may be.
“The whole creation groaneth and travaileth together in pain; but its groans shall not disturb the music of their life, nor its travail cloud the brightness of their little day. In contrast to this Pagan temper the Christian method is to look elements in the face, and see in them the promise of blessing. Christianity does not simply declare the inevitableness of sorrow, or merely lay down rules for lessening its bitterness. It discovers a wise and loving God directing all the mixed processes of life to a beneficient issue. And thus it soothes the heart into patience, lifts it into hope, and floods it with courage.” ~T. Hammond
Why We Count Baskets: The Heart of Abundance & Need
Mark 8:10. The scene has just shifted from the miraculous and climactic feeding of thousands with a mere seven loaves and a few fishes — Jesus filling the overwhelming deficit between his children’s needs and his abundance. He takes what little they had and gave them far more than they could ever need. More than enough.
Some disciples and Jesus push off in a boat from the eastern side of the Galilean Sea, met on another shore by some Pharisees who want more. His healings and feedings and abundant meeting of needs weren’t what they were looking for. It wasn’t enough.
So they cross the lake once more, distancing themselves from the prideful doubters. Jesus sighs deeply, his soul mourning over the Pharisees’ hardened hearts, their hypocrisy, their deceitfulness, their antagonism. Like leaven in bread, their false doctrine corrupts and spreads and infects, puffing themselves and others’ up with sinful self-sufficiency, leaving no room for truth and humble dependence. No room to be healed or fed. They thought they were enough.
Jesus warns his people — watch out. Be careful of that leaven.
But it’s quiet now. Safe. It’s just them and their rabbi on a boat. A boat not rocked by violent waves in an angry sea like others have been. The sky was likely blue and clear, not dark and menacing like skies that would come later. It’s hard to let warnings sink as deeply into our soul as they must when we’re comfortable.
Their minds wander, as they often do when things are going well… Wait. Someone forgot to bring lunch — at least not an adequate one. It’s not enough. I heard ‘leaven,’ he must be talking about bread. The bread we forgot. Because it’s all about us, our abilities, our planning, our lists, our tasks, our bellies that need filling. If we do everything just right, we’ll have enough for today and tomorrow and next year. And if we don’t do enough, we won’t have enough. Sometimes thinking we aren’t enough is just as dangerous as thinking we are. In both cases — whether we fail or succeed, we are the provider of our needs.
As the leaven even then was at work in their hearts, they too had already forgotten. The provision and the filling and the unplanned, abundant portion they had received, barely even digested. As their provider sat right next to them.
“Do you still not see or understand?”
Jesus had been talking about Pharisees, but for some reason now he asks them about earlier in their journey and earlier in the day. Their last meal.
“When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many basketfuls of pieces did you pick up?” “Twelve,” they say.
“And when I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand, how many basketfuls of pieces did you pick up?” “Seven,” they say.
He has them go over the details. Not because they don’t know them, but because they must dwell on them. They remember the numbers of baskets, but they have forgotten or can’t see what those numbers mean. What they reflect. He does not ask them how much they gave, he asks them how much they got back. He draws them from what they did to what he did. For them.
The loaves and the fish and the overflowing baskets are lovely blessings, but the ultimate blessing is not the full belly, but having one who cares whether or not they are hungry or full. The one who took what they handed him, broke it, multiplied it, and handed back an amount far greater than the need. He gave them a tiny but incredible taste of God.
“Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!” (Psalm 34:8).
The only lesson worthy of the miracle, was that God cares for his children. Because that’s what remains whether their bellies are full or they are starving on a prison floor. That’s what would carry them to the end.
“This lesson they had not learned. No doubt the power of the miracle was some proof of his mission, but the love of it proved it better, for it made it worth proving: it was a throb of the Father’s heart. The ground of the Master’s upbraiding is not that they did not understand him, but that they did not trust God; that, after all they had seen, they yet troubled themselves about bread” (George MacDonald, ‘The Cause of Spiritual Stupidity’).
Jesus came not to give us bread, but to give us God. And he gave us himself so we could have God. We will never stop worrying about bread until we grasp this. When our minds are so full of worry, we can’t think with simplicity about anything else. We must stop and remember what we have seen, what we have been given, what we have eaten and tasted — not to add up and count and collect so we can throw up a lovely little #blessed — but to remember the hands it was given by and ponder why. We must learn to gaze up — in our abundance and in our want — to the God who loves us so fiercely and knows our needs long before the hunger pangs start. We must believe and trust that he will always be bigger than that measly little loaf and bigger still than more baskets of bread than we could ever eat.
“Distrust is atheism, and the barrier to all growth. Lord, we do not understand thee, because we do not trust thy Father… The things of thy world so crowd our hearts, that there is no room in them for the things of thy heart, which would raise ours above all fear, and make us merry children in our Father’s house! Surely many a whisper of the watching Spirit we let slip through brooding over a need not yet come to us! Tomorrow makes today’s whole head sick, its whole heart faint. When we should be still, sleeping or dreaming, we are fretting about an hour that lies a half sun’s-journey away!” (George MacDonald, ‘The Cause of Spiritual Stupidity’).
Help us to obey, to resist, to trust.
Help me to look back and count my baskets. Remember whose hands gave them. Recognize that he is enough. He was, he is, and he always will be. Know that I was provided for because I am deeply loved. Know that because I am deeply loved, I will be provided for. Not always in the ways I want but always in the ways I need. While I can’t follow the thread of providence forward to see the peaks and valleys where it will take me, I can trust and rest in the fact that I know where the thread I desperately cling to leads. My provider is on the boat with me, carrying me to my Father. And when my tired eyes are struggling to see what often feels so far away, I can always follow that providential thread back and clearly see from whom it came, for that is to whom I will go.
Prayers Like Arrows
[Read part one HERE (and a shorter version originally published HERE at www.desiringgod.com)]
My struggles with prayer run deep. The spiritual deserts in my life have always been accompanied by a parched prayer life. Eventually, I came to realize this was not only a symptom, but a cause. I was neglecting the very thing that would satisfy my weary, thirsty soul. I was ignoring the path that would not only lead me out of the desert, but keep me out of the wilderness in the first place.
I often fall short of my good intentions when I fail to view prayer as a discipline that needs to be learned and practiced and developed. We speak frequently of the importance of prayer, but often don’t know (or forget) the “hows” of prayer. Even Jesus’s own disciples had to ask Jesus how to pray (Luke 11:1). They saw something in the way he prayed so fervently and intimately to his Father that made them long to do the same. Lord, teach us to pray!
While it won’t be the same for everyone, here are specific actions that have really helped me in my battle against a weak prayer life.
Set prayer apart. The more we pray, the more we want to pray. To do this, you need to build it into the rhythm of your day any way you can: set alarms, leave notes, put it in your day planner. Prayer is a practice that requires discipline and perseverance, and we should own the cost. Prayer is the greatest act of our day, and we must fight for it. And not just in times of need. It matters how we train and prepare for the battle.
Learn to withdraw. Pull away from distractions — the phone, the computer, the TV, the constant noise of modern life — and find a way to separate yourself so you can be and feel “shut in with God.” It can be a challenge when you work away from home for long hours or are sharing your house from dawn-to-dusk with a bunch of loud and energetic children, but make it a priority. Your car on lunch break, a quiet corner in the office, a closet in between meals or feedings or naptimes, or simply the quiet of your heart if that’s all you can muster. But find solitude, and pray (Luke 4:42; 5:16; 22:41).
Prepare for prayer. This one has really helped me. Just because I can pray anytime and anywhere I failed to realize the amazing benefits of truly preparing myself for prayer in advance and turning my soul towards God in anticipation of communion with my Creator. I’ve found that it helps me focus. I get excited as I seek the Spirit and think about what I’d like to pray for. I search my heart and repent of sins. *I have a purpose.* Don’t come thoughtlessly into His presence—remove your shoes before drawing near to the burning bush.
Have a posture of prayer. Do what you need to help you focus on what it is that you’re doing. Kneel, stand, close your eyes, look to the heavens — when your body is focused, it’s often easier for your soul to follow. If able, pray out loud. I’ve found that just softly whispering during my private prayer time is quiet enough that it doesn’t inhibit the flow of my praying, but loud enough that it keeps my mind from wandering. As C.S. Lewis observes, “The body ought to pray as well as the soul. Body and soul are both better for it.”
Pray Scripture. This is a great way to start. What joy it brings to a father to know his children hear his words, cherish them, believe them to be true, and then speak them back to him. So much of my prayers are “plagiarized” Scripture. Without even realizing it, they become the vocabulary of my prayers, sometimes because the beautiful promises make my heart sing, and sometimes because all I can do is desperately cling to his words.
- Show me your glory (Exodus 33:18).
- Turn my eyes from worthless things (Psalm 119:37).
- Show me a sign of your goodness (Psalm 86:17).
- Let no sin rule over me (Psalm 119:133).
- You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing (Psalm 16:2).
Pray fervently. Praying should be active. We cannot truly come into contact with God and not be a different person, at least in some small degree, by the time we say, “Amen.” Struggle in prayer, wrestle with it, and let the Spirit move. Answers to prayer are a blessing, but prayer in and of itself is meant to be a blessing. Sometimes it feels like the moaning of parched lips in the desert, and we should still persevere because prayer is not just the fruit of spiritual life, but the means of attaining it. When words fail, try pausing to think about who God is, worship, then pick back up when words come. Let the Holy Spirit help you. He kindles our aspirations and does not let us rise from our knees until we have said something worth saying to God.
Pray specifically. Vagueness can be the death of prayer. Not that we can never be general, just not at the expense of praising God’s specific attributes, confessing specific sins, or thanking him and asking him for specific things. We must learn to pray specifically and boldly due to the status we have through Christ, while simultaneously being completely submissive to God’s will. Bold and expectant faith coupled with humble submission is a powerful thing.
Pray for and with others. Prayer is meant to knit together the children of God, oftentimes, people we have never even met. We share a Father, we are family, and we should bear each other’s burdens in prayer. We become invested in each other’s struggles and triumphs. We start to care more about the people we pray for and less about ourselves. What a beautiful thing to come before our Father of one accord with the same appeals out of love and care for each other. Prayer binds the church together.
Some friends and I started praying for each others’ children about a year ago. We spend a week praying for each child (usually a specific verse or trait that we want God to grow and develop in them), with an automated reminder every morning—separate, but together. It gives us accountability as we share the burdens of parenting and even better, the joys of watching God change the hearts of our children. Find people you can pray with.
Talking about prayer. I worry we think of our prayer lives as something too personal to talk about, which is ironic in a culture where not much else is. Learn from the prayer warriors who have gone before us, talk about our struggles with prayer, ask for help, develop and teach others, teach our children—but with truth and transparency and *action.* Sometimes Christian language is filled with far more talk of prayer than actual prayer. “Asking for prayer” can become our means of venting or gossiping and we throw around “oh I’ll pray for you,” so readily without following through.
One thing that helps me is to set an alarm on my phone when someone asks me to pray for something. If their birthday or anniversary is December 31, I set a daily alarm for 12:31 and pray every time it goes off. Let prayer be a continual discussion among the church but always in ways that lead to fruit and action.
Prayers Like Arrows
Prayer is not a formula or something that only “works” if we do it perfectly, in just the right way. But it should never be careless. Careless prayers are like arrows that fall haphazardly at our feet. Prayers that we offer with little care or effort typically will do little after leaving our mouths (but be careful about underestimating God). On the other hand, when shot with strength and desire and fervor, our prayers fly swiftly toward heaven to the throne of God himself (Revelation 8:4):
It is not the arithmetic of our prayers — how many they be; nor the rhetoric of our prayers — how eloquent they be; nor their geometry — how long they be; nor their music — how sweet their voice may be; nor their logic — how argumentative they be; nor yet their method — how orderly they be; nor even their divinity — how good their doctrine may be, which God cares for: but it is the fervency of spirit which availeth much.
(Bishop Joseph Hall, 1808)
The fruit that God has graciously gifted my baby steps gives me hope. While it revealed how much I had been missing, it makes me excited to even just scratch the surface of the depth and the beauty and the nearness to God that prayer is meant to be for all of God’s people. May each and every one of us become like skilled archers in the discipline of prayer, with prayers like arrows — fervent and strong ones that change lives, bring healing, impact our nations, alter history, unite the church, and above all display God’s glory.
Strong Emotions and Weak Prayers
Originally published HERE at www.desiringgod.com
Prayer is hard. It’s always been the spiritual discipline I struggle with the most. I blame it on all sorts of things — my busy life, my easily distracted mind, my loud children, my personality, how I’m better at communicating through writing rather than verbally — the list goes on. “It’s not my gift,” I say. Some people are just gifted prayer warriors while I really love reading and studying God’s word, so God must have just wired us to serve different purposes and that’s okay, right?
No.
A thousand times, no. I thought like that for a long time and believing that lie was a tragedy. It’s ignoring one of the greatest gifts ever given to us.
Prayer is the recognition of and participation with God in our life. Our deficiencies in prayer cannot simply be compensated by increased Bible reading, ministry, community, or listening to sermons. Nothing can take the unique place of prayer in the Christian life.
I can say from experience that a prayerless soul is a dead soul.
Blessed Aren’t the Poor in Prayer
Realizing my struggles with prayer, I set out to study it. I talked to people about it and read sermons and commentaries on prayer from other generations, trying to figure it out. In doing so I came to the realization not only of my own poverty in prayer, but the depth of those deficiencies in much of the church — and in particular, my generation.
While it might not be fair to generalize an entire generation, virtually everything about our western culture and way of life is at odds with prayer in ways not at the forefront in generations past. Our schedules are filled to the brim. Smartphones and technology keep us connected to everyone but God. We pour out our lives and emotions on any number of social media platforms, leaving us little to set before God in prayer.
As I poured over commentaries and sermons about prayer from over a hundred years ago, I was struck, not only by how seriously they took prayer, but how much they discussed the care that should go into our prayers in order that they not be careless and ineffectual. They really got into the specifics of how to pray and how not to pray. *not* to pray.
This can be hard for us. We live in a culture of ‘anything goes.’ We often think that prayer should be anything we want it to be in any way we want to do it. It becomes primarily about us and our preferred methods of communicating and our preferred style. We don’t like being told how to do things that feel so personal. The result, however, is that our prayers can be weak and ineffective when they are meant to be a mighty weapon against darkness and accomplish great purposes.
Does God Get Your Leftovers?
For our own sakes, and the sake of our families, churches, and nation, we must not settle for a “something is better than nothing” approach. As Charles Spurgeon said:
There is a vulgar notion that prayer is a very easy thing, a kind of common business that may be done anyhow, without care or effort. . . . We should plow carefully and pray carefully. The better the work the more attention it deserves. To be anxious in the shop and thoughtless in the closet is little less than blasphemy, for it is an insinuation that anything will do for God, but the world must have our best.
Does prayer require so little of us that we’re content to give God our careless leftovers, when there’s nothing particularly pressing at work or interesting on Facebook? If we want to revive our families, and our church, and our nation, then we must revive prayer — and it must begin with us.
A good place for me to start was to understand what prayer is and what it isn’t.
What Prayer Is Not
Prayer is not a rote and empty ritual. How often do our lips move, yet our hearts are still? We “say our prayers” so very often, and yet how often do we really truly pray? If all we are offering is words, we may as well offer them to an idol of stone. May our prayers never be less fervent than our strongest opinions and emotions and social media posts.
Prayer is not simply “chatting” with God. “Pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17) doesn’t mean we just incessantly chatter to God about anything and everything while neglecting the act of intentionally coming before the throne of God for focused and fervent heart-searching, soul-seeking, honest-to-goodness prayer. It’d be like a marriage that consisted solely on texting. I love when my thoughts wander to God as I offer up little praises and prayers all throughout the day. That should happen, but that can’t be it — we must go deeper.
The free access which Christ purchased for us is not a liberty for flippancy before God — it is an invitation to approach the throne of almighty God. The freedom to come boldly before God’s throne of grace does not change who God is (Hebrews 4:16). It was our status that changed, never that of the unchanging King.
Prayer is not about us; it’s about God. It’s the thing that draws our eyes away from ourselves and fixes them on our good and powerful God. The recipe for weak and barren prayers is self — self-sufficiency by thinking we don’t really need prayer in the first place; self-conceit by thinking much of our goodness and little of our sin; and selfishness by thinking primarily of our own needs and wants in prayer. Adore God for who he is, not for what he can give to us. God must be the object, Christ must be the medium, and the Spirit must help us.
What Prayer Is
Prayer is the turning of our soul towards God. It is communication with our heavenly Father, and the powerful force that links child and Father, earth and heaven, man’s impotence and God’s omnipotence. This direct contact is only made possible through Christ Jesus, whose righteousness covered us and provided us unlimited access to confidently approach a perfect God. It is accomplished by the Spirit’s groaning within us and supplicating on our behalf (Romans 8:26–27).
Prayer is the unified work of the triune God to connect with us himself — the Holy Spirit within us communicating through Christ the Son, to God the Father. When God feels distant, more often than not it’s because we are neglecting the very thing that spans the distance between Creator and creature. It is we who are distant, refusing the vital breath of our souls, without which our spiritual life cannot survive.
Lord, Teach Us to Pray
May our prayers not be careless or weak but powerful instruments of change through which the Spirit moves and breathes and eternity is impacted. Our Father is holy and good and worthy of excellent prayers, and he loves giving good things to his children:
Lord, teach us to pray! Against all odds, may we become mighty prayer warriors who in turn teach the next generation, because we have no hope of change apart from you — in the name of your Son, for the sake of your church, and for the display of your glory. Amen
[Read part two that covers practical ways to do this HERE!]
