Emancipation: A Surrender to God

You may be hearing news covering Juneteenth, yesterday’s celebration of Emancipation Day in 1865. And how about the 72 Philadelphia police officers placed on administrative duty over thousands of discriminatory social media posts? Some of them will lose their jobs. Thank you, Philly, for setting an example. And thanks to Pennsylvania's governor for designating June 19 as a state holiday. We've got so much more to do.

Two years ago I wrote a post rather apropos. In fact, it's the last one I wrote here. (It's a decree of its own sort. Please do read it.) Then this past weekend, I planned to share similar words to embolden men in particular to conduct themselves distinctively from the seeming throngs across our country. The words below come from Rule for a New Brother, first published in the UK in 1973. Let us dream, friends. That is, let’s prayerfully envision...

Human freedom is being threatened more than ever. Set yourself against everything that oppresses people. Free yourself from a world that seeks pleasures and possessions and bring others to share your freedom. Set yourself against everything that makes people slaves, politically, economically, socially. You have nothing to lose. No doubt you will have noticed that humanity’s bondage is to sin, to our short-sighted attachment to ourselves. Through your radical surrender to God you will be freed from this and become a deliverer of other people, a breath of fresh air for those you meet, a servant of all, a source of life, expectation and hope.

Read across the Scriptures and we find Jesus as the sign of Jubilee - the time of the Lord's favor, the day all of Nature is set free! He gives LIFE. As followers of his way, we will be his kind of deliverers! 

Now
In this earth
May the social, political, economic
Fathers and Mothers in our societies 

Begin again to collectively, palpably and
Humbly portray our call to FREEDOM.
We will see the great JUBILEE.

Amen.

I still believe

As our pastor taught last week from the scriptures on the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37), part of me wanted to jump up and cheer while another part ached, weary.  It was more than a year ago in the prayer room when the same verses were spoken over our community.  You shall live . . . Come O Breath . . .  know that I am Lord . . . But we've been bearing burdens of that hope much longer than a year (and baring all at times) to see what's dead here come back to life.
I still believe.

There's a young man from our town who was running from police for weeks.  He's been arraigned, accused of murder.  While he was missing I prayed ardently for him and wrote the poem/lyric below.  At some point in those petitions, my mind went to the disbelief of the sisters of Lazarus when Jesus had failed to save their brother from death.  To them, it was over.  To whom would it not be?  I imagine for some this murder case is a closed one as well.  GUILTY - no matter what the law says about maintaining innocence and not to mention the redemption and new life in which many of us claim to believe.

Jesus' reply to Mary and Martha was to share in their sorrow without leaving the loss as the final word.  He asked the question,

"Did I not tell you that if you believed

you would see the glory of God?"
(John 11:40)

And then he brought Lazarus back from death.  Mary and Martha showed disbelief but there came resurrection anyway!

It is belief in the Risen One, the Conqueror, that is my resolve.  It must be.  When nobody seems to get the Dream.  When everything around me looks a lost cause.  When I've seemed to have lost my own way in the valley.  I'll not let death have the last word.  I'm gonna tell stories of hope. 

May we see Your Glory.
 

On My Mind

Face in the news
Face on my mind
Face in my memory from days before

Of a kid on the run
Of a kid in my mind
A kid I remember who stayed next door

If you're to blame
Or whether you're blameless
Neither will tell the half of the story
The one about children still being brought up
to do nothing less and expect nothing more
Than carry on curses handed on down
in cruelty, dejection, futility, turmoil

Who will speak life
Who will keep hope
Which are the stories we choose to tell

If we breathe hope
If we speak life
We follow the call of Ezekiel

Awaken the stories of children in families
who want nothing less but expect what is more:
To break every curse and snuff out the cruelty
That all see in your face their own son or brother

Face in the news
Kid on the run
Blameless in every mind you become

Until it is time

forty each

one of them says

greeting the passerby like

he's known her before

he

just

slows

goes

while i pull

weeds and wonder not

about dirt and indiscretion

but how it is i know

yet stay

sometimes

the ones behind

the lattice weaved i must leave 
till they've grown

so
go

slow

then 

each is known

before reaching to be pulled
out of dirt and in discretion

Gardening one day last year, I overheard an exchange maybe fifty yards away between a female pedestrian and a driver.  Quickly I was conscious of its nature: the young woman and her friend were marketing.  Selling themselves.  For as long as we've lived in this dubbed-destitute place, there are still moments that stun.  The real world of the desperate is right here.  (It's everywhere, mind you.) The cruelest acts are lauded for amusement and the most innocent or vulnerable are handled with contempt.  I am thankful in these moments that I'm still disturbed.

Interrupted.  Stirred up.  Dismayed.

On another day on our old property, I decided - once and for all - to get at a menacing vine.  I started digging to reach the roots, pulling it foot after foot and yard lengths, only to see that the further I dug the thicker and deeper it grew.  Still, I worked: heaving, chafing hands, bent in affront.  I never did rid the root.  Somewhere in the fight I had the picture of a powerful, unseen enemy.  It symbolized perfectly certain things that we'd discerned in our midst at that time, and it has since served me repeatedly.  Whether on individual or universal scales, it's the systems of earth and sky that we battle against here.  Not people. 

Jesus used metaphors for teaching the truths of how this all holds together.  One parable depicts the kinds of soil that determine whether seeds take root and thrive and finally bring a bounty.  In another, there's a story of an enemy who's sown bad seed and the workers have asked to pull the resulting weeds.  The landowner replies, "No; for while you are gathering up the tares, you may uproot the wheat with them.  Allow both to grow together until harvest."  Let them go.  Until it is time.

I think some weeds aren't weeds at all but life existing where it shouldn't be. 

Two weeks after the soliciting incident, I was tidying up the yard again and couldn't quite reach the saplings growing wildly under my porch.  Even though they're trees and I love trees, they're unsightly and destructive when they grow under there, behind the lattice.  I know now from experience that if I let them go, they'll grow long enough to be easily grasped and drawn out.  The metaphor returned to mind.  How often I wish I could just pluck others - neighbors, family, strangers - from the entangled messes they live in, in the dark.  I'd like to act quickly, forcefully, but my attempts to reach into those places in such a manner would and do prove futile.  (Not to mention the cuts and bruises that might ensue as when I try squeezing my arm through that lattice!)

I may feel disturbed.  I do get dismayed.  If I wait, though, wait on the Lord in supplication, I do get shaken up to hope.  I keep up with gardening, and I beckon with power in prayer for the day when seasons have proven to mature it all.  Many tomorrows may pass, but I pray that even these seeming weeds are found to be seeds that fell on good soil, longing in the end to be pulled from the dirt, from the dark.

-------------------------------------------------

And this is for
anyone feeling they're in the dark
wondering about the ground they're in.








 

Heed

When school was closed for MLK Day, we'd just been away without the kids for five days.  A nice winter's day inside was all we had planned.  Then a knock at the door.  More than a year had passed since a visit from LT, our old neighbor.  He wanted a ride into the next town and thought he'd try us.  He didn't need to get there fast, so he stayed for a while.  Over the next couple of hours, we ate together, drank tea and coffee, prayed, talked theology and played with the kids. 

I felt Grace move so freely that morning.  (Oh, when we let it do so!)  The kids were in and out of conversation and back and forth in play.  Cooking, clean-up and dishes just flowed along with the chatter and jokes and childhood stories.  Nothing out of place.  More than once in recent days had the bunch of us remarked how we'd missed LT.  He fit back in like we'd seen him just yesterday, like he's one of the family. 

I was bent down, getting some paper for A when she whispered to me in deep satisfaction, "I knew he was coming.  I thought he was coming, and he came."  I understood completely.  It happens to me and has for as long as I remember.  With joy, I whispered back something about connection, about the Spirit knowing her heart and speaking to her inside.  She smiled wide.

Not much later, LT was talking when I re-entered the kitchen.  He was saying that he'd started out that morning prepared to scrounge up change along the train tracks and out of shopping carts as he's always done.  "Something told me to stop," he noted his uncertainty.  He confessed he kept on course, ignoring it, but it kept on until pointing him to us.  He didn't want to come, not to ask for help.  But he couldn't shake it.  "I don't know what it was..." he wondered but spoke with jittery gladness for heeding.

You bet I let him know about A's encounter!  Plus I shared a thought on the Voice inside him, too.  I've no doubt both of them sensed that pull at precisely the same time that morning.  What untold prayers were answered that day, I can and do imagine.

Something new

The house quiets because the children are in bed.  I consider going myself, as I get dreamy watching the shadows of snowflakes bounce and fly on the wall.  One seemed to come descend inside, and then they all fall faster and fatter, and distorted through window glass they look more like a fifty Nerf gun attack. 

Every year when we get our first real snow, to me it's like the first time all over again.  Something new.  Something saved, too, because it's all enveloped in white.  That's especially the feeling when it comes on days like today, as I recover from the previous evening's too many loads of laundry and floors to wash in too many rooms after the littlest one puked everywhere.

It's like the new door on the house on our block.  Currently, empty apartments and boarded up homes number more than those that are not.  One house has been under major renovations on the inside but you cannot tell from first glance.  You couldn't until today.  I cannot believe the difference a door can make.  It isn't my taste, but it also isn't quite the piece of junk landlords will slap on only when it's absolutely imperative for their own sake that a door be replaced.  Is something new really happening?

Though I'm always dreaming about what's to come, no matter the time of year, I'm also no stranger to despair.  I need pictures like the snow cover to mirror my heavy prayers and then quiet me with hope.  I know the snow will melt away, and not before it's soppy and sullied!  Winter only lasts so long, and even spring has rain.  Still, I ache for a sweeping in to cover, cover.  Recover.  Whiten, lighten, hush. 

And make new.

Firestarters

There's fire in us all.  How and when do we let it burn?

I began to write about my daughter's own in my last post. It's more often hers that stirs up the strongest response in me.  Perhaps it's the depth to which I relate to it, being myself a daughter, a sister... a female.

Naturally, we parents are quick to extinguish fires.  It feels safer.  We seem to have control by the looks of it, but our fear-filled force may very well leave a barren land after the flame's stamped out. Or it turns the fire into fury. Be it a slow, steady burn, one day it just blows and consumes anything in its path.  By forcing our way we only damage what God intended for beautiful purpose. 

I have a picture of backburning. It's a calculated method and likely implemented this week to help rescue Australia from dozens of bushfires burning there. Using any natural or man-made gaps in vegetation such as a river or road, fires ignited purposefully at such "firebreaks" will run back toward the wildfire and consume any potential fuel threatening to increase that fire's power. A positive force is applied.

What if we parents start little fires?  Clearly,  not the kind that would mean "exasperating" our children.  What about starting fires along the pure and good bounds of God's ways?  Our kids' passions that are specifically turning toward the dangerous might stay confined and find no more to consume. Instead, we direct their steps in order to usher in God's holy design for them by accompanying the work he's already begun. We're fanning the flames he ignited in the first.  As servants chosen for this purpose, we act in humility. And we must pray.

I have friends who began an online community centered around a short-term, concentrated prayer effort for their own kids.  It has stirred up my desire to pray more consistently to this end: to keep discovering and subsequently celebrating the passions in my kids in ways that won't bring hindrance but will fuel what our Father intended for Glory. And as I write, I am reminded that prayer brings the Fire that consumes the offering and fills the place with Glory! (See 2 Chronicles! I may have to pick that up in another post....)

I'll share a sort of backburning I've seen bring good things to my home. Kids desire boundaries. In fact, when they act out of control, it may be their way of crying out to understand the boundaries we've created or why we've neglected to set others. When my firstborn was an older infant, he'd fight diaper changes because it interrupted his play.  That was expected.  He'd get quite mad, though, and that seemed out of character to me.  He was so determined and strong that I'd physically struggle to hold him in place. The more force I used, mainly to avoid a nasty mess, the more power he seemed to gain. I guess it became a battle I was willing to fight, because it kept on until one day I smacked his thigh in the middle of an episode. Did he cry and submit and look longingly for an embrace of reassurance? Oh, no, he hit me back - with the fire burning hot.

That was that. It all came back to me - but not all at once - how gentleness covers mistakes and turns away wrath. A firebreak. I started to practice lowering my voice and upping the patience when my son raised his voice along with his temper. The response was amazing.  In the months to follow and years since, we've learned that our boy is full of his own fire - for what is just.  He's particularly sensitive to aggression, such as pushiness in people or unrest in his surroundings.  My choice to show him kindness in the midst of his own resistance toward me would snuff out the flames of hostility nine times out of ten.  It still does, and he's twelve.

Yesterday, I approached our daughter the same. Her older brothers and I have been lying around the house with the flu this week. Not a party, but she seems to think it so. She woke, insisting she wasn't going to school because she was too tired.  I'll use some force at times to get her going, usually coupled with silliness that eventually turns her mood around.  I didn't have strength for that yesterday, so I picked her up and held her in my lap.  I simply acknowledged her cry.  After five minutes of cuddles, she was chatting and pleased to get on with her day, that wildfire of innocent delight flickering inside and out!

i have always liked roller coasters

we held a third day of prayer at our community college last month.  like the previous spring and fall, we set up a tent in the middle of campus and invited anyone who desired to join in the 12 hours of nonstop prayer.  to see our communities turned upside down by the love of Jesus, we know it'll start with our praying.  so we gather people to seek the Father's heart.

this journey in prayer has been surprising, like our fourth child coming.  at first it seemed the sound rhythm of bed rest had continued after his arrival, especially since my recovery took longer than expected.  however, the demands of a newborn (in an already full house) drained away any sense of rest.  most days i felt over-stretched, incapable.  i had hoped for a steady, straightforward climb toward wholeness and "normalcy" but a roller coaster ride describes it better.  he's four months old now and it's still up, down, and all around.

like me and prayer.

weeks back, God showed me how i forget prayer in the times when desperation nags and haunts and leeches.  somehow i forget why i pray and to Whom i call.  when i reach helpless or hopeless, i have quit prayer because there's a crooked belief that if i'm not "enough" my petitions won't be received.  i think i should be stronger.  i'm ashamed when i get ugly.  i compare myself to other moms or the mom i was before.  i believe i must first brush myself off, correct my attitude or remember the bright side, and i miss my Father's heart.  i believe my composure will grant me acceptance in his presence and he just might answer, even rescue.  

then i read Spurgeon's words, depicting a different posture and making me remember:

"oftentimes a poor broken-hearted one bends his knee, but can only utter his wailing in the language of sighs and tears; yet that groan has made all the harps of heaven thrill with music; that tear has been caught by God and treasured... think not that your prayer, however weak or trembling, will be unregarded."

that day, the day i read how "God not only hears prayer but also loves to hear it," i began again to practice this kind.  a fever came on me, for no known reason.  for several hours in the evening i was home alone with all four kids and physically feeble.  emotionally so frail, i simply said, "i cannot do it." and he carried me through.  climbing into bed later on, i dreaded facing the overnight.  i only asked, "heal me," and before dawn my fever broke.

yet i have forgotten again.  i've struggled a lot before and through the holidays and i am back to dismissing this simple prayer.  another lesson i have failed to learn.  i recall sitting in our first prayer tent a year ago.  distracted and disappointed, my hopes for a stretch of quiet had been dashed.  not as i planned, i had my toddler with me and she needed my attention and had her own plans.  i remember tasting the irony.  even then, God was showing me my ignorance, how i limit prayer and limit him and me.  he had started me on a new journey of rest.  it's one that i'm still on, a ride that hasn't halted, where he's teaching me to just and always be with him and to know how much he longs for me.

i don't know whether yours is like a roller coaster, but this is one ride i pray won't stop.  even if it's up, down, or all around.  i want to let him gather me toward his heart and my prayers are where it starts.  would you ask with me, that i'd begin again and not forget so quickly?

where does our help come from?

on the monday after thanksgiving, i didn't want to enter into work again. resting a bit more over the weekend was really good. i was walking around speedily, getting to work anyway, when i smashed my little toe on a dresser drawer. the same foot i injured just weeks before. slow down, slow down already. i sat on a chair and iced my toe while acacia watched an episode of "the cat in the hat knows a lot about that." amusingly, one whole segment was about learning to go slow like a sloth.

kenn returned from the bus stop and asked me whether i had thoughts regarding the far-too-long-overdue vacation we're hoping to take at december's end. we had sent out a request for prayer, knowing we need God to make that vacation possible. then a friend offered up the possibility of using her parents' lake house in PA for free. boy, that would be a quick and ideal answer. wouldn't it? we gave her the dates that would work for us but found they're the same days her parents will be there for their vacation. i was a little disappointed and actually pondered that our only option had been lost, as if God couldn't provide in another way.

when i said i didn't really know what we should do, kenn started with, "i guess i have to send out another prayer email." it's the type of response we all have when we try to make things happen. reassert oneself. instead, i passionately suggested more petitioning of God himself. no sooner did i invoke the both of us to cry out to God to help us in our need - the need of which God is more than aware - than kenn's phone rang with a message. a woman gave her name and said she wanted to give us money. how should she go about it? we replayed the message, laughing in delight and praise. sure, we didn't know if the call was legit, but we were sure God was answering us and promising provision.

a little while later, i took the time needed to rest my toe as an opportunity to sit in thanks. i looked through the psalms and chapter 146 stood out. so did isaiah 58 with its promises for those who act in righteousness. verse 9 says:

then you will call, and the Lord will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: here am I.

there's more. kenn heard from a coworker that same day that she and her family had gifts for us. it was like an early Christmas when kenn brought home the 3 or 4 bags of sundry items plus cash. on tuesday, our mail included a Christmas card with a check inside. the following day we received another check from the mystery woman who left the voicemail. kenn had returned her call. she's from a local church that has supported us in the past and their women's group wanted to bless us, too. by friday, we discovered that another congregation sent a large gift to our account, making the money we raised for next month nearly double what we typically receive in any given month. our support will actually be at 100%!

an increase like this at the holidays is not the norm for us, and the pay period isn't over yet! however, kenn and i still don't know whether a vacation will be possible. it is by God's grace through this time of "abundance" that we are seeing this unknown with renewed perspective. receiving so much blessing can make you stop, slow down, and give praise Where praise is due. and you realize (again) that you should have been resting in God's goodness already and praising just like the psalmist:

Praise the LORD.
Praise the LORD, my soul.
I will praise the LORD all my life;
I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.
Do not put your trust in princes,
in human beings, who cannot save.
When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;
on that very day their plans come to nothing.
Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD their God.

He is the Maker of heaven and earth,
the sea, and everything in them—
he remains faithful forever.
He upholds the cause of the oppressed
and gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets prisoners free,
the LORD gives sight to the blind,
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,
the LORD loves the righteous.
The LORD watches over the foreigner
and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

The LORD reigns forever,
your God, O Zion, for all generations.

Praise the LORD.

yielding in prayer yields fruit

eight days ago, we set up our first prayer room!

we propped an E-Z Up shelter in the parking lot of a church down the street during their 5th annual fun fair which is hosted in partnership with our neighborhood association and elementary school staff. this church has a great ministry to the neighborhood called SHINE Ministries, where i have volunteered in the past. just a couple of weeks back, the director of SHINE was speaking with kenn about life & work and invited us to set up a table at the fair. i honestly don't know what he was imagining we'd want to add to the event and when kenn told me of the invite it was almost in passing. for a brief moment i thought it was simply a nice gesture. then a second thought overcame me. WHOA. that's a big deal. and immediately followed: we should have a prayer tent! i think i surprised both of us.

though kenn and i are planning with others to hold a season of nonstop prayer this fall, we did not foresee something of this sort and this soon on our street! kenn went to the director with the idea, the director went to someone overseeing the fair, and the prayer room was approved! there wasn't much time to put it together, but complete peace filled me as i drew plans for how it would look and what elements would be appropriate to include. getting to design such a sacred space, pouring prayer over the details and envisioning what God could be doing, was absolutely fulfilling.

the day of the fair started with two teen boys helping set up the tent. both of them were campers of mine the first year i was a counselor with SHINE. now they're a regular part of the life at that church. my mom joined us, plus two friends from our old church. a youth pastor friend from another church in town (who also happens to be my distant relative) stayed all afternoon to help run the tent. i grew up with him and his sister, and his mother has taught for years at this same neighborhood school, deeply committed to the kids and their families. it's a wild blessing to be doing God's work together today!

at the fair, every child registers for the activities and a card with a list of the stations is given to each. their cards get punched after visiting each one. when a card's complete, a student receives a new book bag and other gifts like school supplies, a New Testament Bible, and a ticket for a free cone from the ice cream truck. at first, people were a bit hesitant to stop by the prayer room. coming together so last minute, it wasn't an official item listed on their cards, and the tent was a bit removed from the other tables. however, once a certain number of people realized what the tent was all about, a flow of visitors came.

in front of the prayer room was a box where anyone could leave prayer requests. only a handful of people shied away from doing so, with most eager to share their burdens or words of thanks. several folks, including volunteers with the fair, made it a point to thank us for having a prayer room, to show their approval of "such a great idea". a few personal stories we heard in more detail. one woman asked for prayer on the spot. we spent time with a man whose newborn son has been fighting for his life. many people we personally know from our street participated. and the kids at the fair loved the space inside the tent. they wrote out prayers and drew pictures of them, some giving praise to Jesus or thanks for what they have. parents rested there while their children colored and hung their work along the perimeter of the room. those prayers and the ones left in our box came to number over 100.

it would take a lot more time to describe everything we saw that day, but one of the most significant moments for me came later that evening. there's a large crew of kids - all from the same extended family - that is always next door and with whom we've gotten pretty close. some of them were outside that evening and one of the little girls, whom i'll call M, came to ask me what we we'd be doing with the box of prayers. i told her a group of us would be praying over them and she asked to help. she wanted me to bring out the box so we could pray for all of them together! though i felt unsure of letting her read the cards since some were shared in confidence and she might recognize who had written others, i knew i still could not squelch her desire.

a few other little girls were playing with my hair as i sat on the porch, and M pulled up a chair in front of me. she continued to ask to pray and i finally decided to not bring out the box but suggested that we still could pray. there were a couple of interruptions, including a phone call with a prayer request, until at last i said, "let's pray." another, even younger girl had pulled up a chair next to M, so that we formed a tight circle there on the porch. she asked to pray first, and with two other girls listening in, the two who were seated put out their hands to hold mine and bowed their heads. eyes closed, each took a turn to mouth silent prayers. after their amens, i asked if i could pray aloud and then brought to God the beautiful day we'd just had. i thanked him for the fair and for friendship. i prayed for our neighborhood, for the phone call request and for the girl's uncle who's awaiting a lung transplant. then an older girl walked up and sat on the window sill next to me. we grabbed her hands and i thanked God for her, too. as i closed our prayer, another cousin came to tell them it was time to go inside and they skipped away.

i am still aflutter inside. what a privilege to sit on my porch as i've done countless times before, this time praying with these dear little ones! i don't know what else is in store, but my heart is ready. God is doing many beautiful things in this place, and i am so grateful we're a part of it all!

----------------------------

UPDATE Nov 2013:

Many months after we'd prayed for the uncle of M and the family had moved from our block, our phone rang.  It was M's uncle, calling from the hospital, having just received a double lung transplant!  His doctors and the other hospital staff were in awe at his body's response and the quick progress in the few short days after surgery.  Then he said he knew he HAD to call us because WE HAD BEEN PRAYING FOR HIM all along!  Even now, every time we see him he attests to the fact that he was given another chance at life.

UPDATE Apr 2014:

These days M and others from the story above have made their home at the church where we held the prayer tent.  They've been deeply involved in SHINE and are growing into beautiful young women.  Please pray that their hearts would be forever captured by Jesus and their faith, too, would yield boundless fruit in this community!  Also, the fellowship we've now called home for over a year is the same one from which our helpers/relatives came to support us at the tent in 2010.  I love life's twists and turns.

prayer and a life sentence

this week, a young man was sentenced to 68 years in prison. four years ago, he took another man's life. now he'll likely spend the rest of his locked up. he murdered a man from our town, one who's brother is an acquaintance of ours, a committed community leader and a pastor of a nearby church.

i read the story online, watched a video taken at the sentencing, and began to pray. first for his fianceé and the ones closest to him. for our pastor friend and all the "victims" of this crime. even for others involved in the proceedings. finally, i looked at the face of this convicted man (barely a man, really) and then was my spirit overwhelmed. i pondered what a life he faces, the life he ultimately chose, and i could not help but weep for him. within seconds, i was wishing i could stand beside him, a friend ready to walk with him, no matter his demeanor, conscience or plea.

the more common reactions from any one of us could likely be a shrugging off of such tragedy as all-too-common, a ranting of opinions on how the case was handled, or maybe a shaking of heads in prideful pity thinking we could never be so evil. perhaps we're burdened for the ones who lost their loved one in this dreadful way. or God forgive us, we may even vengefully delight in this young man's demise.

i believe what happened in me had much to do with prayer. i brought my thoughts and feelings into conversation with God and my mourning came, my deepest compassion flowed for the criminal. prayer can do this. not like magic. prayer isn't a game or trick or formula for getting our wishes. when we truly practice prayer, we let ourselves receive God's dreams and understand his passions, even while bringing ourselves before him. choosing to pray this way is yielding, it's placing ourselves at God's mercy. full of mercy that he is, we find that mercy flowing for us. and one day, it overflows to others.

if you're feeling the need for kindness or really want a different heart, try more prayer. give a little more time and grant the Spirit a little more space. into the most empty (emptied) places, the most mercy will flow.

have mercy on our souls.

sometimes God answers fast

i was struggling with something today, wrestling a little with God but mostly with my own mind. i reached the point of decision: tonight, after the kids are in bed, i must read my Bible and pray. i just need to be with my Father. i just need him. it gave me some peace to simply hope for that time.

immediately after o. was tucked in, i closed myself in another room, took out my journal and got out some thoughts. then i read and started to pray about one chapter in particular. while i conversed with Jesus about leaning on him like a brother (consider hebrews 2), i got a new picture of faith.

that wasn't the only new picture. i had answers to the very thing i'd been struggling over earlier in the day. i had barely broached the subject with God, and CLICK! on went a switch, and he answered my confusion. i found him and i found what i needed.

praise the Lord of life! he hears us when we call and is found when we search for him unreservedly. and even reservedly.

try him.