Merry Christmas

My prayer for you, a benediction

May your gifts this Christmas remind you of the gift of Christ. May your generosity remind you of the generosity of the Father. May your relationships with others remind you of the fellowship of the Spirit. May you know the joy of the angels, the eagerness of the shepherds and the peace of the Christ child. May the blessing of God almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be among you and remain with you always; and may you and yours have a very Merry Christmas.

(Adapted from a Church of England Advent blessing)

At Play in the Fields

As I was walking the other day through the fields, I realized again that my dog, Oreo, has become a part of my relationship with God. As we tramp through the fields around our town together, I notice things about her behaviour and occasionally God will nudge me to reflect on how that particular act might reflect something deeper. 

It is such an amazing adventure to live in a God bathed world. The more I realize His actual presence the more the opportunity for connection with Him becomes a reality. I am looking for Him, expecting Him to speak up at any moment. I am slowly learning what it means to actually walk with God; not just follow His principles or obey His Word, but to actually walk with God.

Yesterday, I went on a walk with Oreo and God. They were both with me the whole time, even when I wasn't consciously aware of their presence. On these rambles across the countryside, I generally let my mind wander. I don't keep a tight rein on it, but let it go where it will following the contours of the land and sky or pondering tasks and relationships. 

As I do so, particular items will come into focus and sometimes I turn toward God and start talking with Him about it; asking Him for His perspective, or a solution to a problem, or just sharing my heart about the topic. After talking for a bit, we lapse into a comfortable silence, like an old married couple.

But sometimes God breaks the silence and pipes up with something He wants me to consider. Ideas that are not my own intrude, or something unexpectedly catches my eye and draws my attention, sending me off on a different train of thought or initiating a prayerful dialogue with Him. 

Yesterday, it was the shear joy of the dog. We were walking in the wind and rain through a field of high grass when she just took off. She was leaping and running in wild circles in a sort of ecstatic dance.. She would occasionally come back to check in or just look my direction. The look of wildness and excitement in her face could only be described as joy. She was loving it, the wildness of the weather, the freedom of her body, the stimulation of the environment. She kept looking in my direction as if to say, "Isn't this great! Come run with me!" I smiled and walked on, unhurried, but enjoying her joy.

Then came the nudge...I realized that my birthright as a child of God is that kind of joy and freedom. The fruit of the Spirit is joy! I too can run with reckless abandon, playing in the fields of the Lord, because He is with me. His rod and His staff, they comfort me. 

Because He is with me and will not leave me or abandon me, because His eye is ever fixed on me, I can release my worry and hyper-vigilant self-protection. He is close, He will warn me if danger enters the field. He will call me back from my wild romp if need be. But he also walks on toward the destination that He knows, unhurried but not unmoved. 

He shares in my joy and spurs me on to love and good deeds, to the eternal kind of life that I long for! He knows the end from the beginning and He is working it all out for my good. My only task then is to walk with Him through life, tuning my ear to His voice and remaining open to His direction. All the rest is play in the fields.

God's Terrible Inefficiency

I realized again today how much my perspective is shaped by who I am. I am driven by efficiency and productivity. I am always asking how to improve something or how to derive more from less, how to work smarter not harder. This drive is partially a result of my basic personality type, but has been continuously reinforced by my culture and education.

Today I was bemoaning a particular ineffeciency.  I was telling my wife that the return on my investment in a particular project was inadequate. I was arguing against doing something like it again. She listened to my rant patiently then gently asked a question, "Did you do what God asked you to do?"

"Yes!" I answered, "I did, but God is so terribly inefficient!" Suddenly I realized that Jesus had really mishandled his ministry, had botched his opportunity to make the kind of big impact that he could have made. First, there is a question of timing. He was born in a time and place where his voice could not be heard globally. Certainly, it would have made more sense for him to be born now with ubiquitous global media available to spread his message and broadcast his miracles. There was no recording equipment, no TV, no radio, no internet. He could reach more people in one day with a webpage and a twitter account than he could in 33 years of wandering around preaching to people in person back then. What was He thinking?!

Second, there is a question of social and economic clout. Even if we grant that it was a good idea to be born then, He should have picked a better situation for himself. He was born into a poor peasant family in a backwards province far from the centres of power. He made no effort to use the established systems of influence in government or religious circles. Instead, he recruited a bunch of misfit hicks to follow him around, and wasted his time blessing children and even going so far as to tell people NOT to tell others about what he had done for them. Certainly the lessons of guerilla marketing and viral marketing were lost on him. Again, I have to ask myself, What was He thinking?!

I could totally have done a better job. I could really have helped Jesus to be more efficient and productive. Jesus needed a strategic plan and a marketing team. (Perhaps even a glossy brochure.) He wasted so much of his time talking to people like the woman at the well, or the woman caught in adultery. He should have been focusing on those with more clout. He should have spent more time networking and developing contacts with the decision makers, the influential people. He could have really accomplished so much more! When he died, even the few followers he had were scattered. All power in heaven and earth had been entrusted to him! He used this power to wash feet?! What was He thinking?

As I allowed this train of thinking to flow from my unconscious to my conscious thoughts, it became so clear. God's economy is simply not mine. He chooses to work in ways that appear to be terribly inefficient, and I find that personally frustrating. Often, it seems like He is wasting my time and energy. I want to improve on His plan.

But there is a freedom that comes from seeking to know and do His will. If I choose to live in light of His actual presence and sovereignty, I can actually relax. When I release my imaginary brillance, the fiction of my control, I can find rest for my soul. Isn't this where Job ends up. He wrestles with God (and God commends Him for his honest arguing) but the answer was not what Job expected. God didn't answer the specifics of Job's questions, instead He offered Himself to Job. He reminded Job of His true nature and character. He showed Job His greatness and Job felt appropriately small before Him. Job repented and found rest for His soul.

I am after the peace that surpasses all understanding. It is interesting that prayer is the doorway to this peace. In prayer we acknowledge our smallness and dependency. We come to God and lay our requests before him with a heart of gratitude then the peace of Christ guards our hearts and our minds. We can find our rest in Him and let Him do what really is best. Only He knows what is really best, only He knows the end from the beginning. So, the terrible inefficiency serves a perfect purpose, but only He is capable of working it all together for the good, for my good and the good of His Kingdom. 

Fear and Love

John tells us that true love casts out fear. He goes on to say that in perfect love there is no fear. (1 Jn. 4:18) I guess my love is not perfect, because I find myself struggling with fear today.

This is a pretty rare experience for me. I am a generally confident guy who goes through life with a glass half full perspective, but there are a few things in my life at the moment that have brought up fear in me. It is so unfamiliar to me, that I couldn't have named it until today.

I was walking through the fields today, talking with God. I was asking Him to help me understand what has been driving me toward the old cisterns lately. Suddenly, it was crystal clear. I realized that I am afraid. I have been trying to escape from the pain of fear. The revelation seemed to come from outside of me, but I knew immediately that it was correct. Naming it allowed me to feel it and I suddenly had tears in my eyes. 

The things I am fearing are not fantasies, they are based in real circumstances I am facing. But that does not make them real. I have been more and more convinced lately that the future has no actual existence, and when I attempt to live in the imagined future, I can not really meet God there. God lives in the NOW. He is the I AM. He is always NOW! So, here in the present is where I must meet Him and where my love for Him must be perfected. His love for me is already perfect and total.

All of this is complicated by the fact that I no longer believe that God promises to deliver us in the triumphalist way that I was taught as a child. God does not promise to deliver us from suffering. He does not unfailingly rescue His children from poverty, disease, war, abuse, etc... I have seen too much pain and loss to believe there is a prayer, incantation, ritual, or service, which compels God to act in a particular way. Such beliefs are more akin to magic and shamanism, where the supernatural world can be manipulated or bent to our will, than to the Biblical picture of a fiercely free, all powerful, and independent God who does whatever He wills. 

I do love and trust this God, but I do not know what He will do. He may not deliver me from the things I fear. He hasn't always in the past. Does this make Him untrustworthy?  No, but it forces me to redefine my trust and face my fears. Do I trust God or trust that He will deliver a particular outcome. Do I trust His person and character? I feel like I am losing my faith in prayer as a productive force, but growing deeper in my love and dependence on the God who actually answers prayer. 

He met me today in the fields. He showed me my heart. We talked. He did not promise to deliver me, in fact, He did not directly address the questions I asked. But He was there. That's worth something. My fear is still with me, but it is diminished somewhat by His presence. Perhaps my love is being perfected even through this.

We read in Hebrews that Jesus was made perfect through suffering. (Heb. 2:10) What makes me think that my path will be more comfortable than His?

Awakening to an Invitation

I woke up early this morning.  As I lay there in bed trying to get back to sleep, I felt something.  At first it was just a sort of vague curiosity.  A sort of wondering feeling.  It was so subtle that I only became aware of it as it begin to coalesce into a longing, a longing still quite vague.  There was no distinct object of my longing, my desire.  Then it morphed again from a longing to an invitation.  That was when I began to awake to the source of the longing and the invitation.  God was at it again.

I got up and headed downstairs with my journal and Bible in hand.  I knew that I was hungry for God, that the hunger was from God.  I knew that I wanted to meet with Him.  As I opened my journal I saw that it had been many days since my last entry.  I silently repented of my neglect of this, my most important relationship.  It's not that I had not been praying, or even experiencing God in worship, contemplation, nature, or His children, but it had been weeks since I had taken the time to sit quietly with Him. 

In that moment I realized that I was in danger of talking more about God than with Him.  I was subtly sliding into a life about God but not with God.  As I sat on the couch I was desperate for His presence.  I sat quietly for a time and then began to write and pray.  I wrote about my heart and shared with Him my thoughts and invited His input.  I didn't feel anything except alone.  The quietness of the sleeping house broken only by the ticking of the clock. 

Gradually I began to be filled with memories and with gratitude.  I remembered how far He had carried me.  A growing wonder dawned on me as I realized anew the miracle of knowing Him.  I tried to remember why the sins of my youth had seemed like a good idea.  I praised Him for rescuing me and for healing the pain in my soul.  I needlessly apologized yet again for spending so many years fleeing from Him, the Lover of my Soul. 

Then I was filled by a desire to love.  I felt a deep desire to be an agent of His love, for others to be healed, for others to experience the fullness of joy, the abundance of life, that I have found.  I prayed for and wondered about those in my life.  How could I love them better?  How could I help them to find the blissful surrender to the Lover whose unrequited love for them never diminishes or fades.  Then I was moved again to wonder and to praise at the fact of His presence in my life and the love that He has lavished on me.

As I closed my journal and reached for my Bible, I wondered where to read.  I did not want to study the scriptures, I wanted to meet with my lover, the one who speaks through them.  As the Book fell open on my lap my eyes fell upon Isaiah 35.  From the first verse I knew that this too was a gift from my Lover, my Father, my Brother.  He spoke to me through the passage about redemption and healing. 

He met with me.  He loves me still.  He speaks to me still in the silence and in the scriptures.  He awakens me.  He woos me.  He draws me to Him again and again.

Where do I get my magic sword?

A battle of epic proportions is raging around us.  A life or death struggle.  People have left their families behind, have suffered privation as they dedicate themselves to the fight. Every day people are paying the ultimate price in the struggle for victory against an ancient foe, laying down their very lives.  We listen for the orders from our commanders to plug this hole in the line, free those prisoners, or to take that distant hill.  We throw ourselves into the fight.  Some are the commandos dropped in behind enemy lines.  Some are the infantry slogging it out in the trenches.  Some are the stretcher bearers and healers.  Some provide air support or strategic planning.  But, all of us have a role in the battle.

My role these days is mostly air support or, more clearly, prayer support.  I believe that God has called me to devote myself to intercession.  It is difficult for me to watch the battle raging and to see the enemy taking shots at our people.  I once was down in the trenches and I miss the gritty day to day fighting.  These days I fight differently, in the quietness of my secret place of prayer.  Even so, I am filled with emotions: anger, distress, sadness, and rage as I see the enemy of our souls fighting against my compatriots.  I see his lies.  I see the way he tricks us into friendly fire, or ambushes us with the sins that so easily entangle.  I wish that I could grab him by the throat and throttle him.  I find the intangible nature of this warfare terribly frustrating.

In the stories, when a huge and nefarious beast appears on the battlefield, the hero reaches for his magic sword, strides forward into battle and slays the hell spawned creature.  I desperately wish that the spiritual battle was that easily won.  I want my magic sword.  I want to destroy the schemes of the enemy, to free the prisoners, to heal the sick, to raise the dead.  I want to see the banner of the Lord lifted high over the battlefield and to hear the righteous battle throng sing the victory hymn to Our Father, Our King.  Paul says that we do not fight as the world fights, but that we have been given divine weapons that demolish strongholds.  The problem is that I don't know how to wield these divine weapons.  I believe that I am learning, but oh how I want to learn more quickly and to wield the weapons more effectively!  I need the King, the Captain of the Host to train my hands for battle!

What to do

I find myself wondering what to do.  I have been burdened, terribly burdened lately.  Most of the burdens I have been bearing are not my own, but those of people that I love.  As a minister, I am involved in the lives of people, and most people, myself included, are broken.  Most of us are not tremendously broken, we manage to go on day to day just fine, we're just a little cracked.  But a few situations lately have led me into the valley of suffering with some friends.  They have been mourning and I have been mourning with them.  I also have tremendous opportunities to rejoice with those who rejoice, but recently there has been more mourning.

But lately I have been bearing another burden, a burden with not one name but with many names.  A burden about organizational sin rather than individual sin.  I have seen a creeping evil, an insidious foe arise.  It looks good, it feels familiar, and yet it is wrong.  I struggle how to name the it...institutionalism, deception, selfish ambition, quenching the spirit?  I'm not sure exactly how to name it, but it is clear as day when you see it.   It is like eating horse meat.  It looks pretty similar to beef.  I can't really describe the difference between beef and horse, but you know the difference when it's in front of you.  It is so similar, but it looks a little different, it smells a little different, it tastes a little different.

So here is my dillema...what do I do about what I see.  I have asked God to do something about it.  I asked Him to have others speak up.  They have...but it continues.  I asked Him to expose it, to let others see it.  They have...but it continues.  I asked Him to put a stop to it.  He did not...and so it continues.  Now I am wondering what I am supposed to do.  I know I am supposed to pray, and I am doing that.  I am wondering if I am to do something else, something more active.  Is there not a time to stand up and do something?  Is this such a time for me?  Would it matter if I did?  It's not that I have much to lose, but I don't see much point in investing myself in this fight if it won't do any good.  It is so draining to invest so much energy in intercession, only to see the cogs of soul numbing, God diminishing, machinery continue to chug along.  But how does the machine get stopped if no one stops it?  Is this my fight?

The more I pray about this, the more I feel like my role is more Moses than Joshua.  When the Israelites fought the Amalekites Joshua went into the valley while Moses went up on a hill overlooking the valley.  While Joshua unsheathed his sword and went into battle, Moses stood on the hill interceding for the armies of the Lord.  As much as I want to be down in the valley in the thick of the fight I feel like His call for me is stay up on the hill with my arms lifted in prayer.  So, here I stand, even as my arms grow tired. 

Emotions and prayer

In the last few months I have felt particularly burdened.  I am involved in the lives several people, and it seems that recently there has a been a lot of crisis lately.  I have found myself really heavy as I pray for my friends and for the situations.  At times, more often than I would like to admit, I have been moved to tears.  Not just the gentle tears rolling down my cheeks, but real weeping, wracked with sobs.  This is definitely not normal for me.

At first I was concerned, but as I have processed this and talked with good friends, I am beginning to wonder if I am not moving toward the heart of intercession.  My wife read me a quote that said something like, "real prayer starts when words stop."  In Romans 8, Paul tells us, "We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express."  I am not sure that my weeping is exactly that, but I am starting to think that it is related.  I wonder if God is letting me feel a little of His heart for those I am praying for, or letting me bear some of their burdens.

There is a troubling aspect to this, because it seems to go against the peaceful feeling that prayer is "supposed" to produce.  I have often been encouraged to tone down my emotions, my passion.  I have been encouraged to be more like the meek and mild Christ, but now I am starting to reevaluate and to rediscover the emotional range available to us in scripture.  And let me tell you, when you start to read scripture with an eye for the emotions, there is a lot in there. 

The circles I run in seem to be concerned about your mental stability if you cry in church, or if you express anything beyond mild frustration at any time.  I wonder what they would make of Moses, Samuel, Elijah, David, Jeremiah, Hosea, or Paul, not to mention Jesus.  Jesus was sad.  Jesus wept.  Jesus was angry.   Jesus was so mad that he resorted to violence in the temple.  Yes, Jesus was also peaceful, joyful, and meek, but he experienced and expressed the whole range of emotions.  These were men following hard after God who also expressed a lot of emotion. 

I spent a lot of time praying through the Psalms today and I was amazed at the whole range of emotions contained and expressed as prayer.  It was wonderful to be able to pray the emotionally charged words of scripture back to God.  I just prayed my heart out today.  I am no longer going to try to censor my prayers to make sure that they fit into my, or anyone elses, preconceived notions of propriety.  Today I prayed with reckless abandon.  Interestingly enough, there was plenty of burden but no tears today.  Go figure.

Praying and cycling

I am starting to realize just how little I know about prayer.  It's not that I haven't read about prayer, or study the topic in the scriptures.  I admit that I have a lot left to learn cognitively about prayer, and even more left to understand.  But my need for knowledge goes beyond the cognitive.  What I am realizing is that I am only now beginning my journey in the area of prayer.

I feel like a man who years ago became interested in cycling.  I read books about the history of cycling.  I go to bike shops and talk to cyclists.  I read about the lives and experiences of great cyclists.  I even attend the odd cycling event from time to time.  But until very recently I never really got on to a bike, or at least never rode much.  I occasionally rode my bike down the street or around town, but never really trained, never devoted myself to it.  So, despite years of learning I am still a novice.

The real knowledge comes in the doing.  Years ago I had a mentor tell me that you learn about praying by praying.  I nodded sagely and asked him if he could recommend a book about that.  Recently I have redoubled my efforts at serious prayer.  I find that it is tremendously hard work.  It really is true that the learning is in the doing.  I devote myself to prayer and am left tired and drained, not unlike a novice bicycler who has not built up his stamina.  I am amazed at how exhausted I am after a time of intercession.  I feel like I have been carrying real physical burdens, a deep bone tiredness.  It is hard to push myself to continue to pray when I feel like I have "hit the wall".I have to remind myself that I have much to learn.  I want to keep learning and to find what is beyond the wall. 

The Battle

I believe that God has created me to be a warrior.  I feel most engaged, most alive, when I am conquering something.  I love a challenge.  I have often struggled to understand this part of myself, or to tame this part of myself, but I believe that the Lord has created me this way.  I believe that He is pleased with this part of me.  He calls me to follow Him, and then leads me into battle.

The problem is that the battlefields He leads me to these days are internal and spiritual.  He leads me to battle my flesh and Satan, the enemy of our souls.  He leads me to battle in prayer.  But, these battles are not easily won.  They are never really over.  No sooner do I see a victory in one area, then He calls me to march on.  I want to stand astride the battlefield as the conqueror savoring the victory, but instead I find that the fiendish enemy is not vanquished, but rather has retreated to another field of battle.  So, I march on, but I don't find the sense of conquest or closure that I seek.

Yes, there are moments of victory.  There are quiet celebrations as strongholds fall, but these are tempered by the realization that the grim foe remains and the fight is not over.  I see glimmers of light and shimmering victory against the backdrop of the darkness.  I see how far I have come, and yet more clearly how far I have yet to travel.  My struggle for holiness continues.  This is true in the battle for my own sanctification as well as the battles I fight in prayer for others. 

My struggle in prayer is also clouded by my inability to quantify the victories.  I can see lives change, people come to faith, relationships reconciled, churches planted, strongholds fall, but it is hard for me to see these as a result of my prayers.  I sit in a room thousands of miles removed from those who are in the thick of the fight and wonder if what I am doing is of any real value.  They are the ones on the front lines, perhaps I should be out there with them, where the "real" work is done.  Or, perhaps the real work is prayer.

I was puzzling over this today and was drawn to Exodus 17.  Moses tells Joshua to get ready for battle and to go fight the Amalekites, while Moses heads up on a hill to pray.  Joshua goes out to battle and Moses holds up his arms and prays.  Whenever Moses' arms are up, Joshua and the army of Israel are winning, whenever Moses drops his arms they are losing.  So, who really wins the battle for the Lord that day?

I am tempted to say that Moses did, but verse 13 says that "Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword."  The victory was Joshua's.  Moses had a role to play, a key role, a pivotal role, but the victory was Joshua's.  Or was it?  Perhaps the victory was really the Lord's and Joshua and Moses both played their role.  It was the Lord who brought the victory and both Joshua and Moses fought the "real" battle, but fought in different ways, on different planes.

I'm not really sure how it works.  Some tell us that the "real" battle is spiritual, others that the "real" world is the one we perceive with our senses.  I think that both are equally real, both were created by God.  I find battle in the physical world so much easier to engage in and to understand.  It is hard for me to stay motivated to battle in the spiritual realm.  I have so much to learn.  But, this I know: prayer is important.  God invites us to pray.  He urges us to pray.  He teaches us to pray.  He commands us to pray.  He tells us that our prayers can be powerful and effective.  He gives us examples of prayers that make a real difference through the lives of Moses, Elijah, Jesus, Peter, Paul, and so many others.  Clearly prayer is important.  Clearly we have been given divine weapons to demolish strongholds.

So, today, I wade into the battle again.  I little know or understand the significance or effectiveness of my attempts, but I believe He has called me to this.  Perhaps my childish attempts at battle make Him smile and He empowers them to demolish the unseen enemy.  I hope so.

The Nature of Faith

This morning I read Romans 14 and was struck by the last line of the last verse: 'Whatever is not from faith is sin." As I meditated on this verse trying to grasp the practical implications of this for my life, I was drawn back to reflecting on the nature of faith. If faith is a set of doctrines that I believe or my belief in itself, then I'm not sure what to do with this verse. How do I interpret and "Whatever is not flowing from my belief is sin" or perhaps "Whatever is not in accordance with the doctrines of the church or biblical principles is sin"?

I remember earlier in my journeyt falling into a paralysis of analysis as I constantly checked and double checked my motives to see that they were from faith. As if I could even rightly discern my heart motivations or could seperate the various mixed motives and eliminate the less noble ones through some sort of mental exercise! I remember also a time in my journey when I thought of my "faith" primarily in terms of biblical principles and ideas to be understood and applied. If only I could read, grasp, understand, and apply all the biblical mandates and principles then everything would be "from faith". This too is an impossible task in daily life, and would create an unbearable burden of analysis of every situation to determine which principle(s) apply and how to apply them before doing anything.

But, what if faith is not primarily about content or about the quality or quantity of my trust or belief? What if faith is primarily relational? In Hebrews we are told that "without faith it is impossible to please Him for he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is the rewarder of those who diligently seek Him. In John 5 we are warned that there are those who diligently seek the scriptures because they believe that by them they will have eternal life, but they refused to come to Jesus who was life. In John 17 we are told that eternal life is to know God and to know Jesus whom He sent. It is all about relationship.

So, that means that whatever is not done in relationship with God is sin. This makes more sense to me, and I believe fits better with the rest of Scripture. There are so many decisions I make that do not include Christ. There are so many unexamined parts of my life. Clearly God has made known to us the broader parameters, the fences beyond which we dare not tread; The Ten Commandments are a good summary of those, and the Sermon on the Mount provides greater clarity on how to interpret those, but the key is not to memorize and analyze. That is not the eternal kind of life.

Eternal life is to walk and talk with God. To involve Him in every aspect of our lives. To not just begin by the Spirit, but to walk with the Spirit day by day. (Gal. 5) As I go through my life, I can dialogue with my ever present God about my circumstances, relationships, ideas, emotions, and decisions. Whatever is not done in communion or in communication with the Spirit of God is sin. This is not undoable, or overburdensom; it's not easy either. I will have to adjust my mindset and to learn new disciplines, but perhaps this is what Paul meant by praying without ceasing 1 Thes. 5:17). I may be wrong and foolish about some of this, but I am still thirsty and this leads me to Jesus, the fountain of living water.

Bent

In Paralandra, C. S. Lewis uses fiction to explore the nature of man. He creates a cavalcade of characters that embody various perspectives and ways of living. I think one of the marks of good literature is that it makes you think. A good book will continue to bounce around in my head for weeks after reading, or at least the ideas will resurface and become a part of my mental landscape.

Just this morning I found myself reflecting on my own nature and gravitating back to Lewis' description of one particular character. He describes the character as bent. As I reflect on my soul, my good intentions, my choices, my desires, I find that this word, "bent", is an apt descriptor. I am not shattered or broken, not irredeemable or un-fixable. But I am deeply bent.

As I ruminated on this it suddenly occurred to me that the way a blacksmith straightens something that is bent is by heating and hammering. This thought rose in my mind as I was asking the Lord to straighten my bent soul. I believe that He has me in the fire right now and that the hammer is falling even as I write this. He is not doing this to be cruel. He is doing this in answer to my prayers, and for my own good. The heat and the pressure are indespensible parts of my re-formation. He is working on my bent soul. I want to be re-formed in the image of Christ, but I can't say that I always enjoy the process. So, I choose to trust and wait for the next straightening blow to fall.

Oh Me of Little Faith

I have had several situations recently that have revealed to me how weak my faith really is. Recently, I have experienced a number of disappointing, frustrating, and downright painful things in my life. As these things have happened, I find myself struggling to really trust God. The details of the situations are not important, but what they have shown me about myself and about God is vitally important. It's not that I'm in danger of walking away from Christ, but rather that I am realizing how superficial my trust is.

When things are going well and seem to be progressing as I had imagined, or hoped, then my faith seems steady and unassailable, but when things take an unexpected and disappointing turn I find myself slipping. I find anger welling up inside. I find myself wanting to escape from reality and to deny my feelings. I find myself not actually trusting.

It's easy for me to talk about faith when none is required, but it is harder when I pray and the things I ask for don't happen. I find it hard to trust that God is for me and is working all things together for my good and for the good of the Kingdom when what I want and what He wants don't seem to be the same thing. On some level I want what He wants, but on another level I really want what I want. I'm pretty sure that I know best. I don't trust Him when He doesn't do what I want.

Like a petulant child I find myself pouty and grumpy when I ask for something that I think should be granted. Imagine the temerity of God not to listen to me and do what I ask. How dare He!?! The fact is, that something very like this happens in my heart. It seem heretical to write it or to acknowledge it, but that's where I am in my journey. I suppose it is good to have the state of my heart revealed and to find out that my faith really is considerably smaller than a mustard seed. It does not feel good, but it is good.

I take comfort in the fact that there are many of little faith who have gone before me and who have shown that faith can in fact grow. More than that, I take comfort in the promise that faith is a gift of God, not a result of works. So, I can (and do) ask God to give me more faith so that I might trust Him better and bring Him more glory. I'm sure this is a request that He will not deny.

The Power of Prayer

I find myself struggling with the value of prayer. I see that it has transformational value for myself. It also has clear value in developing a more intimate relationship with the Lord. My struggle is about the practical value of prayer. Is it true that "the prayers of a righteous man accomplish much"? (James 5:16)

I have often heard the emphasis placed on prayer and on the "prayer of faith", but I find myself loosing faith in prayer. I think that I have misplaced my faith when I place it in prayer, as if prayer is a powerful force in an of itself. I believe that as I loose my faith in prayer, I am gaining more faith, more trust, in God. God is the mover. God is the source of power.

He is not an impersonal force like electricity that can be switched on or off through a "prayer of faith". He is a person who has a will and plans of His own. Is it true to say that prayer is powerful and effective, or would it be better to say that God is powerful and that prayer is the sum of our interactions with Him. When we are acting rightly, as His regents, His priests, in His Name, He delights to grant us our requests. Therefore, the prayers of a righteous man are powerful and effective, in that they are the means by which God releases His power and gains glory for Himself.