Let's please pray prayers worthy of a God

He had a gleam in his eye when I came home today. Like the time you find money in your pocket you never knew existed or how or when it got there.

He had a pep in his step. Mischievous. Beautiful.

Out of his torn pajama pocket, he pulled out a slip from a fortune cookie. He had a low blood sugar attack and had sought refuge in the Asian treat.

"When you awaken tomorrow morning, the solutions will be clear."

See because that's the way our God works. Bushes, donkeys, ethnic snack foods, everything around us sings the song of a Maker so utterly committed to His creation.

And that's all he needed. Beasthood.

Against all odds, he made phone calls. Against all the no's, he searched for that Greater Yes. Because one time God said, "Before you even acknowledge me, I strengthen you."

And he found victory. A way to stay afloat in the midst of this sad economy. Because again, God doesn't work on stats, but on faith.

He said, "God always gives me something to hold on to."

Tears flooded my eyes. This coming from a man that used to say, "God is not for me."

But this was the clincher:

She sat.

Quiet. Eerily relaxed.

"You were right, she said,

He really has changed."

And 34 years of no's broke. 34 years of unanswered prayers seemed like an instant.

Prayers I prayed since I was 8, but God only saw this moment.

I never thought it possible to hear those words from her mouth. A mouth so laden with fear and bitterness, always ready for disappointment, so expectant of disaster.

I thought to myself, "So have you."

A new heavens and a new earth.

"In the days to come, Jacob will take root, Israel will bud and blossom

AND FILL ALL THE WORLD WITH FRUIT." - Isaiah 27:6

Keep praying prayers only a God can answer.

He deserves nothing less.

Aren't we all caged beasts?

He's there. tiny, but insistent. in every single

in every single

in every single human being on this planet.

in the recesses of our souls, he sits. not passively. always planning. always praying. always longing.

the bars around him made of iron, or maybe straw. it doesn't matter. caged. a gracious beast.

caged.

each day he wakes and chips away at his stolen throne. cuts at its hinges, lances the straw.

bursting, writhing.

praying.

longing to break out. not to dominate, but to radiate. not to destroy, but to save.

he waits. and waits. and waits.

he knows he can break through in one breath. but that would forsake love. because you can't make someone love you without negating free will.

he continues. each day he looks around and says, "this world is not my home." his home is freedom, his home is life.

one day we will find him, sitting in a dark corner. he will look up expectantly, tears in his eyes.

we will free him.

and we will fly.

Creation

There were two people who prayed. Begged. God heard.

Or maybe there was just one person who prayed, begged. God heard.

Or perhaps no prayer was tossed up at all. Just a mistake, a slip up. God still heard.

So He woke each day. Took the pungent dirt in his hand, the rich soil. began to mold, shape. He took leaves and dreamd hair, flowers to fashion color. Tree bark - bone. Breathed each cell into existence.

placing each bone with careful attention. his saliva - tendons. He cupped water from his oceans to fills eyes. darkening or lightening as his heart desired. seashells for teeth.

he wasn't satisfied. so he stopped. perhaps he prayed, sang, dreamed of a time that he would dance with.

he came back. hours upon hours to hone, master it. he counted each leaf. measured each cup of soil. when the frame was complete, tears filled his eyes. he longed so badly for a dance, but perfection was not yet reached.

He slept. waking up each hour to check on creation, its formation.

the next morning, he knew the time was near. creation was nearly complete. he stood and prayed and kissed, breathing in his spirit, his life, his love.

and those two people felt the baby move. its kicking. knew that life would never be the same.

and 9 months later, God's creation was birthed. no mistakes, no do-overs. perfect.

Each time we touch one another, we touch his palm. Each time we look in the mirror, God smiles because he remembers how he toiled and labored to fashion that nose, the eyes, that smile.

"Naked" is not a matter of sex or reproduction. It is a state of grace, awe of what God has done.

We are not our own. Our bodies are sacred, temples of God, his life and breath swell and move within.

So yes, love yourselves. Not because that's the right thing to do, but because that is the only response to perfection.

The only thing worth giving those we love is the love of God

Take my life and let it be consecrated Lord, to thee.
Take my moments and my days, let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands and let them move at the impulse of thy love.
Take my feet and let them be swift and beautiful for thee.

Take my voice and let me sing always, only for my king.
Take my lips and let them be filled with messages from thee.
Take my silver and my gold not a might would I withhold.
Take my intellect and use every power as you choose.

Here am I, all of me.
Take my life, it's all for thee.

Take my will and make it Thine it shall be no longer mine.
Take my heart it is thine own; it shall be thy royal throne.
Take my love, my Lord I pour at your feet its treasure store
Take myself and I will be ever, only all for thee,
Take myself and I will be ever, only all for thee.

Day 1

I cry, sob, heave.

I don't know this place, I say.

It knows you though, He says.

And then the cries don't hurt anymore, they don't subside, they linger like a kiss.

The cries turn into such immense notes of praise, of love, of utter and complete dependence.

I was always Here. Never far. I know you.

So I crave loneliness, yearn for emptiness, grasp intensely for the feeling of thirst, destitution, poverty.

Because it is in its filling that joy is birthed. It is in its divine satisfaction that worlds are changed, cities renewed, families healed, lives saved.

Because everything else is futile. The text messages, tv shows, musings of relationships, balanced check books, textbooks, nothing else can fill That place.

I love You so much it burns. It burns away any remnant of hope in anything else but Our relationship. I am so desperate I can't breathe without you. I really am nothing without You. And not in a self-deprecating way. But in a way that recognizes how limitless You are and how finite I am without You. In a way that understands that impossibilities only occur through faith.

And not churched faith. Not faith that can be intellectualized. Faith that is squeezed like pus from a wound. From loss, sacrifice, accomplishments, success, pain. Faith that oozes, carries with it every doubt and sin. That in its rawest form is filthy and so human, so totally aware of its illogical nature and yet is infused with power, light...

Grace.



And so I sit on my red couch so totally alone.

That is all I ever wanted, He says.

For me to be alone? I say

No, He says

For Us to be together.

I really don't want

to move.

I'm not excited about it at all. I can buy all the cute furniture. I can get all sorts of decorating ideas. I can think about all the new types of freedom I'll acquire. Being able to go to any church I want. Staying out without having to call. Washing dishes on my own time schedule.

But it doesn't mask the fact that I'm so acutely sad to leave my mother. I can't imagine not seeing her face every day. I can't imagine not being there for her when things are difficult or when she wants to share a funny story.

Yes, I'm not moving to Uzbekistan and yet I feel an ocean between her and I. I see it in her eyes each time she sits next to me now and says, "You'll still come visit right?" It was always me and her. Since I was born. We were a team, struggling, surviving, learning from one another. She was my angel. The one good thing about me I used to say.

And then I fell in love with Someone else. And He said, I love you but I don't need you. I desperately want you without condition. And I got confused. My mother's love is all I've known. But now He is asking me to give her up. Asking me to trust in His love alone.

God has to come in between each relationship.

And this should be easy. But it's really not. There is a space in my soul that only my mother occupies. But when you say, "I want to be all of Yours," something snaps. Floodgates open up washing away the pattern of things.

God says I want to enter that space, increase it and occupy it. For your sake, for her sake and for your father's sake. All for my glory. So that your joy may be made complete.

I watch him wash the dishes, something he never did before. He buys me prunes, says it's in the bottom shelf of the fridge. Trying so hard to be the provider. But even in the midst of these small but important treasures, God is calling me out. Separating me out.

It's a pain unlike I've ever experienced. It's emptying, lonely, terrifying. I dread that apartment. I dread what it represents. And yet all God says is, Come home to me. Let me serve you. Let me fill you. Let me be your mother, your father, your all.

So I will go. I will pack up my things and journey into that unknown place. I will brave the inevitable loneliness, the doubt, the fear of what will occur at 2832 while I reside at 3333. I will brave the accusations, the pleas, the begging, the misunderstanding. I will endure it all for You. For the ultimate fulfillment of your promises to me, to them, for us, for the world.

I am walking on water and each day I almost drown. And each day you remind me when I ask Who I am?

You say, "I am with you."

So here we go. I've given up my dreams, my love life, my friendships and now finally the most important people in my life. You have it all. There is no turning back now.

Worship is my sacrifice

How can I not praise You?

How can that not be my only job really?

You are infinitely worthy of praise

You never give up on me. Never.

You are always willing to remind me.

You put up with my need to control, my need to be busy all the time

And then when I've driven myself into a hole, you are patient enough to dig me out of it.

You want the very very very best for me. Why? I don't deserve it. I don't deserve Your best or Your willingness to train me to receive it and wait for it.

And yet each day You write me a love song. And You sing its chorus to me when I look at the sky. You sing a verse when I clean a patient. You sing its second verse when I look into my mother's eyes and tell her I'm not her answer.

I don't deserve your song. And I drown it out. Fill my ears with the opinions of others. Fill my ears with the glorification of being busy, of being occupied all the time.

But You wait patiently. Because then you hum it until I'm ready to listen. But sometimes You belt it, You scream it because I need rescuing.

How can I not constantly praise You? When You are so for me. Even when things come crashing down, my darkness is light to You.

You know me. Love is merely the skin of knowing they say. And You know the hairs on my head, You knew me in my mother's womb. It really is too lofty for me to understand this.

Sometimes this knowing is too unbelievable to me so I reduce it. I box it up. Categorize to more manageable levels. But You shatter it each time. Each time You remind me of a critical lab to draw at work that slipped my mind. Each time I look into the eyes of a trusted friend and see You shining through whether that friend realizes it or not. Each time I cry out from loneliness or defeat. Each time I hold a hand of a patient. When I google AMC. When I go to Mexico and am given the chance to diagnose and prescribe without human training.

I love You. I love You so much it scares me what I'm willing to give up for You. But then I realize that even that willingness and even my love for You comes from You.

You really are the best thing about me. You really are the one and only reason I breathe.