Let me be part of your story unfolding.
Make me remember I am not my own.
Batter my heart till, your glory beholding,
I defer all to your throne.
Photo by Ian Stauffer on Unsplash
This poem alludes to the poem “Batter my heart, three-person’d God” by John Donne. Look it up for more on the idea behind today’s poem.
I watched a movie recently where the protagonist (a minister) wrestled with questions concerning prayer. Is God listening to us? Can we know his thoughts on the matters that most trouble us? Is there only one way to pray? As he struggled to reconcile his faith with his feelings, I found myself resonating with his concerns. At the root, I kept returning to one question:
Does God still listen when we feel like we’re praying all wrong?
Give me a love for people,
For runny noses and achy heads,
For homesick widows with empty beds,
For orphaned children who long for homes,
For refugees on a strange sea’s foams,
For unwashed sweaters and hole-filled shoes,
For ears weary with unhappy news,
For feeble bodies both young and old,
For hearts white-hot and for hearts now cold,
For neighbors nearby and far away,
For friends who go and for friends who stay,
For enemies who have not earned peace,
For captives awaiting their release,
For those who share my blood and my name,
For names I would prefer not to claim,
For fallen minds that think much like me,
For souls with whom I still disagree,
For happy voices singing their songs,
For those I fear because of their wrongs,
For tongues I do not now understand,
For both innocent and guilty hands,
For those remembered, those forgotten,
For both highborn and misbegotten,
For image bearers in ev’ry form,
For the lost, the fervent, the lukewarm.
Give me a love for people.
Photo by John Simitopoulos on Unsplash
I had a lot on my plate that day. I’d chosen a seat in the student center so I could drink some coffee while I worked, and I was hoping I could avoid people long enough to get some work done. Typically, however, such attempts were unsuccessful, and that day was no exception.
Let us behold as much of you as we
May bear with eyes still tethered to this age,
And purify our vision till we see
You in the printed ink upon the page.
Let us see past the threats and throes of life,
Past ev’ry disappointment, ev’ry loss.
Let us see sov’reignty midst earthly strife
And find our comfort in the crimson cross.
And let us lay before you our dismay,
Discouragement, and disillusionment.
And let us ponder worthily and pray
And work out our salvation and repent.
Let trembling be our lot through joys and tears,
For true fear swallows up all lesser fears.
What draws people to fear?
James left us with some frightening thoughts.
Their eyes now look to me.
I wonder what they see.
Do they detect the doubts and fears,
Perceive the weights, the hidden tears?
Or do they only see
A car’cature of me:
A man of wisdom, love, and care,
Firm in the faith and full of pray’r?
Lord, if they look to me,
Let me e’er look to thee.
Be evident in all I do
That they, through me, better see you.
Let me be all for thee,
More you and less of me,
A servant serving all around
That they in love would e’er abound.
When I was little, I remember praying with my head bowed, my eyes closed, and my hands together. Prayer, at that point, seemed tied to posture, as if a change in posture might lessen the validity of the prayer. At least, that’s how my little mind viewed the situation. As I grew, I learned that one could pray without folded hands, without a bowed head, and even without closed eyes. Such discoveries brought a newfound freedom to my prayer life, yet they also became opportunities for the flesh as I began to self-righteously look down on others who still maintained the posture of the early days of prayer. I thought that I’d grown beyond the need for such posture, that I’d grown so mature in my relationship with the Lord that posture and setting became concerns of the past. I’m beginning to reconsider the importance of posture, however. Continue reading
as i learn to walk 