The ABC's of Prayer

When my children were very young, I began using the ABC's as a tool to guide them in Scripture memorization. For example, "A" would stand for Anger: "A wise man controls his temper" (Proverbs 14:29). "B" -- Bad Words: "Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking lies" (Psalm 34:13). For "C" I chose the word Choosing: "Where is the man who fears the Lord? God will teach him how to choose the best" (Psalm 25:12). And on and on we'd go until we had made our way through the alphabet and then we'd begin again with new words corresponding to each letter. (I must inject here that I used money as an incentive. Back then, I think I paid them a quarter at the end of each week for the verse committed to memory. You may judge me, if you like, but, hey, it worked.)

There was a period of time where our middle child would get up in the middle of night with some type of anxiety, pacing the floor on his toes. As his mother, I would pull him into bed with me, wrap my arms around him, and say, "A." He would respond with, "A wise man controls his temper."

Then I would say, "B."

He'd reply, "Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking lies."

And on I would go with each letter, with him responding with the corresponding verse until he finally settled down and drifted off to sleep way before we made it to "Z." And as I recall, none of those verses had anything to do with anxiety or fear. They had more to do with just life in general.

"D" - Doing: "Whatever you do, do well" (Eccl. 9:10).

"E" - Example: "Follow my example as I follow the example of Christ" (1 Cor. 11:1).

"F" - Friends: "Do not be mislead: bad company corrupts good character" (1 Cor. 15:33).

After several rotations of ABC character-building verses, I moved to selecting scriptures that had to do with God and His character. How many of those verses through those years took root and produced good fruit? Only God knows. But for that season of restless nights, the ABC's were less about Scripture memory and more about prayer and connecting to the true Word of God.

Many, many years have passed since those days of drawing my child close and saying the ABC's in order to calm him down. Many books have since been read on prayer, and many techniques have been employed. Does anyone truly believe they have arrived when it comes to praying? Certainly not I.  Recently I came upon a story that J. David Muyskens relates in his book, Forty Days to a Closer Walk with God. I offer it to you here.

The story is told of a Jewish peasant who became so absorbed  in his work in the field that he did not notice that the sun had gone down. It was the eve of Passover, and he was not allowed to travel after sunset. So he spent the night in the field. At sunrise his rabbi came walking through the field and said to the peasant, "Your family missed you last night." With a sigh the peasant explained what had happened. 

"Well," said the rabbi, "I hope you at least said the appointed prayers."

"No," the peasant replied, "that's the worst of it. I was so upset that I could not remember the words."

"Then how did you pass the holy evening?" asked the rabbi.

"I recited my alphabet," said the peasant, "and trusted God to form the words."

Sometimes life can get just get overwhelming. Whether it be the chaos in the world, the chaos in our own personal life, or the chaos within our heart, during those times, we can find that it's difficult to know what to pray. Or how to pray. It's times like that when we can trust God to form the words. After all, He knows the world's troubles; He knows our personal circumstances; He knows our hearts -- our desires, our needs, our sorrows, our rejections. And sometimes there just are no words. 

So should you hear me singing in the night season, listen closely, I just may be reciting my ABC's while God draws me close in His arms.

Just an ordinary moment...

A Band of Blue Jays

When I come out here to my deck in the early mornings, I truly never know what to expect. In fact, I've come to anticipate this time for just that reason. No, the scenery itself doesn't change too much -- just the normal stuff of the seasons, but what God brings to me does. This morning was like that.

At the present, I am working through a devotional book entitled, "40 Days to a Closer Walk With God" by David Muyskens. The author teaches his readers a method of silent communion with God; of being open to the gift of God's presence and just abiding in deep and intimate relationship. After reading today's short entry, I put the book aside and picked up my coffee to just spend some time with God -- as suggested. No reading. No praying. Just a time of being aware of His presence. In silence. Or so I thought. For just as I picked up my warm cup and began to meditate on the passage, "Lo, I am with you always," a blue jay in the back pine began to call. I have to admit that my first thought was, "Well, that's annoying," as I pulled myself back to center. And then there was another. And another until I could distinguish between 6 or 8 jays in a cacophony over my head. Never had I heard, or at least been aware of, such sound. I couldn't help but wonder if there were some intruder of sorts in the trees -- or yard. What would cause such alarm?

As the concert continued, I refrained from clapping my hands or rushing into the yard crazy-like to scare them away so I could return to "being in God's presence." Rather, I settled into listening to see if God was speaking to me through this. After all, there I sat TRYING to meditate upon Matthew 28:20: "I am with you always."

Because I had looked at my watch when I settled into my silence, I knew exactly how long the birds kept up their, what shall I say? Chorus. 25 full minutes. But as quickly as they began, they quieted. The odd thing is that I never saw a one of them. No flights. No swoops. Just one lonely call at the end so precise that I wondered if it might not be the pronounced "Amen" by the leader of the group.

Blue jays. It's not a bird that many like due to its aggressive behavior -- especially toward another bird's nest and babies. And their gaukiness. After all, their "song" is not particularly lovely. But they are fearless when it comes to protecting their partner (they mate for life) as well as their young and their territory. They will defend their positions against adversaries much larger and more powerful than themselves. Often to great success. And to the Native Americans, the blue jay speaks of purity of the soul, truth of the heart, and clarity of thought; a "double vision" or double clarity due to the blue on blue.

At this point, I'm not really sure what or if God was speaking to me. But I am certain of this: when all was quiet again and I took by Bible and opened it to that Matthew passage, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had just experienced something very, very holy. Tears welled up in my eyes and began to course down my cheeks. My spirit was extremely full -- like I had just eaten a gratifying Thanksgiving meal.

Maybe this is what Jesus meant when He said the kingdom of God is at hand. It's NOW. Maybe this is what it means to be in the present moment and experience Him NOW. After all, isn't that what the Matthew passage was saying? That He is with us, even in the midst of the disturbances, all the noise, all the upheaval going on around us? Yes, I believe it just might be. And not only today, but tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and, yes, even to the end of the age.

I think that's a word worth holding on to, even if God did use a band of bluejays to deliver it.

Just an ordinary moment...

Early Morning Poetry

My heart has been heavy lately. Weighed down by a multitude of circumstances surrounding me. No book or reading or prayer seems able to aid me in my quiet time just now. I try, but everything seems empty. I sit with my Harney and Sons coconut, ginger and vanilla green tea pressed to my chest warming it and my hands on this unusually cool spring morning ... and I watch. The holiness of the gaze,  as one author puts it -- allowing my eyes to bring everything close, intimate. Just being aware, for I have read that the loving eye can coax pain and hurt toward transfiguration and renewal, and I could use some of that. I watch the first rays of sun find their way through the white oak onto the grassy lawn just past the pine. The cardinals, wrens and dove vie for seed where the greedy squirrels cannot reach. A young hare hops across the backyard into the neighbor's azaleas, out of view of the hungry hawk. I breathe in and out slowly. In and out. "Yah-weh." And another. With each inhale and exhale: "Yah-weh." All is silent but my breath: "Yahweh." I sense His presence with me. It feels good. HE feels good.

After a period, I am led to pick up my book of Mary Oliver poems in the basket next to my chair at the window, and I turn to the page where I had last marked to begin again. I haven't always been a fan of poetry -- which speaks more of my lack of literary prowess than the poet's ability to communicate. I'm a wordy person. Poets are not. They know how to leave a page white with empty spaces. How to articulate silence. As John O'Donohue puts its, "In poetry, your language will find cleansing illumination and sensuous renewal." I'm learning that. Like now. I turn to Oliver's poem, "Summer Morning," and He reaches into my depth of being ... and speaks renewal.

Heart,
   I implore you,
      it's time to come back
         from the dark,

it's morning,
   the hills are pink
      and the roses
         whatever they felt

in the valley of night
   are opening now
      their soft dresses,
         their leaves

are shining.
   Why are you laggard?
      Sure you have seen this
         a thousand times,

which isn't half enough.
   Let the world
      have its way with you,
         luminous as it is

with mystery
   and pain ---
      graced as it is
         with the ordinary.

Just a (not so) ordinary moment...

When Heaven Touches Earth at the Dogwood Festival

As I walked the exhibits of the Dogwood Festival yesterday, I came across a booth that caught my attention. This particular couple was from Homosassa Springs, FL and they were selling unique leather goods. (You can check them out here: The Hide Out.) Interestingly enough, it wasn't the merchandise itself that caught my attention but the scrap bin set at the corner. For $1, I could have 5 pieces of scrap; for $5, I could take home 40 pieces. So within minutes, I was walking away with a little green bag containing scraps of 2 sheepskins, 2 alligator hides and 1 crocodile skin. I had found my treasure. I would go home happy. Very happy.

My husband and I made our way deeper into the hoard of tents, looking, smelling, touching the wares of many of the craftsmen who had come for the weekend. We even stopped at the corner soda shop for an old-fashioned root beer float; and always, I protected my little green bag of treasure. Or so I thought, for as we were approaching the truck to return home, I looked down and gasped,"My bag? Where is it?" I had my other purchases, but my prized buy ... it was gone! So as my husband took my few bags and headed on to the vehicle, I back-tracked every step I had made since my last known period of possession -- yet to no avail. I returned to the truck and to our home dejected.

It was just a bag of scraps, for crying out loud, but for some very strange reason, these little pieces of sheep, gator, and croc had brought me such joy. And so after about 3 hours of brooding, I decided to return to the festival and to that particular scrap bin.

My first clue of blessing should probably have been the parking spot. A festival in full, afternoon bloom, and there, almost at the barrier cones, was an empty parking space. I whipped in and walked up to the booth. The man remembered me: "Yes, 2 sheepskins, 2 gators, and a croc," he said. I told him what had happened and he instructed me to pick out 10 for a dollar (instead of the 5). I told him I thought I might actually get 40 for 5. "Then pick out 50," he replied. He walked around to where I stood at the bin and began going through it with me.

"What are you going to do with these?" 

How does one explain when one really doesn't know? So I said, "Well, I'm making a poem and prayer journal, and I want to use these somehow. Really, I'm just trying to strengthen my right side of the brain with a little creativity." Truth is I really didn't know why the innate pull to these reptile hides. But I kept digging. 

Fred (did I mention he wore an alligator head "hat"?) told me that when I was through to come lay the scraps out and he would categorize them for me. As he did, he would say, "This isn't 40, go get you some more," and so I would. He would pile those and instruct me again, "This still isn't 40, but I'm not going to count them, so pick you out some more." By the time I was finished, I had accumulated piles of alligator, crocodile, sheepskin, cobra, boa, python, ostrich, stingray, snook, and rattlesnake. He labeled bags, separated them out for me, and after taking only $5 from me, sent me home, instructing me not to stop and hug anybody less I lose those bags, too.

So what does all this have to do with heaven touching earth? Everything. You see, yesterday, as I stood there dipping both of my hands into those scraps, turning them over and over, it seemed that time stood still, and in some mysterious way that I can't even begin to explain except that I know it was real, heaven opened up and I became aware of something very, very holy. In that moment, heaven came and touched my little place here on this particular ground where my feet touch. As my friend would call it, it was the ministry of reconciliation. For a moment, heaven and earth were reconciled. It was simultaneously sweet and bitter. Sweet in that it was so holy. Bitter in knowing that it was but for a moment. It would not last. I HAD to be in that moment, or else I would lose it forever.

I'm also convinced that my new friend Fred got a whiff of it, too. That's why he kept saying, "Go back and get more! Go back and get more!" Heaven had touched his tent and the Kingdom is always about giving ... about spreading outward ... about the more. He could not help himself.

Many who read this will think me crazy. In fact, I don't really don't expect many to understand at all. But that's okay. I just know that it's these brief moments of awareness and perception that make the world so full .. and so good.

By the way, when I got home and laid the scraps out on the bed to look at them again ... to touch them, I also counted them.  80 pieces.  A double portion.

Just an ordinary moment...

Early Morning Note to a Friend

Grateful for these times here early in the morning before my open window:
the waning moon peeking in and making company:
a tinge of pink in the approaching east:
a small chorus of my feathered friends taking stride along with me.
     I think they are singing joy today.
It's the In Between time when the veil is thin and God is near.
And it's important in our day, both yours and mine, that we stop and take notice ... and align our internal frame of reference.
     For love flows from the inside out, not the other way around.

Ah, my first guest has arrived. A cardinal. I must go. Know how much I love you.

Just an ordinary moment...